A World That Shouldn't Be
by Gabriel4
Summary: Ron Weasley has never really appreciated his importance to his friends and family. But when he is accidentally sent forward in time he must deal with a threat that has crippled both the magical and Muggle worlds and learns just how much his life is worth.
1. The Surprise Party

**A/N: **This story is a stand-alone work that takes place after the events of Order of the Phoenix. Chapter two will be posted within the week. If you feel so motivated, click that little "review" button when you finish and tell me what you think!

Chapter One: The Surprise Party

It was just past midnight on a late July night at the Burrow. The surrounding hills were quiet and still. No lights shone from any of the windows of the lopsided house. Not a whisper of wind disturbed the leaves of the trees. Everything in this corner of the world was sound asleep – save for one teenaged boy.

Ron Weasley leaned against his windowsill and drew a deep breath of cool night air, staring straight up at the stars that twinkled in the inky blackness above. The Burrow was out in the country and the nearest town was a few miles away, so there were no Muggle lights to drown out the heavens. Here the sky was almost as clear as it was at Hogwarts.

The shining moon was climbing high in its arc. Its face was full, and for a moment Ron found himself thinking about Remus Lupin. His favorite Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was undoubtedly a werewolf at this very moment. He wouldn't harm anyone – he took Wolfsbane potion to ensure that – but he could be running free outside under the moonlight all the same, just like he had done when he was Ron's age. Except now he had no one to run with. James Potter was long dead, Peter Pettigrew was a traitor, and Sirius…

_Sirius._ Ron felt a pang when he thought of the man. He remembered the feeling of icy cold shock that had spread through him when he was told – in the hospital wing at Hogwarts – of the tragedy. It was a sad ending for a man who had spent twelve years in Azkaban for a crime he hadn't committed. Sirius had died a fugitive from the law, his innocence unproven, and to Ron this seemed the greatest tragedy of all.

Ron sighed into the darkness. He knew he wasn't the cleverest of wizards but he did know how much Sirius had meant to Harry. Harry had no parents; a godfather was the only link he had to his family as the Dursleys certainly didn't count. Ron had heard his parents talking about Harry and Sirius on more than one occasion, about how Harry was coming to regard Sirius as something of a hybrid of elder brother, favorite uncle, and father figure. Ron couldn't imagine what it could be like to have no proper family, and he'd tried to put himself into Harry's shoes more than once. He had grown up in a house crammed with siblings and parents – and Harry had no one.

Harry did not want Ron's sympathy… or anyone else's, for that matter. He had avoided the subject of Sirius during the last week of term and grew angry when it was brought up. Ron knew it pained Hermione just as much as it did him to see Harry in such a state. They wanted to help Harry. Ron _knew_ they could help him if only he'd let go of his stubborn pride. The raw misery in Harry's green eyes was there for the whole world to see and yet he refused to discuss it with anyone. Ron did not understand how his friend could just squash it down so. He had actually started to grow angry with Harry for being so short with him, but a few words from Hermione had quieted his temper. "Just let him be," she had said softly, patting his hand after Harry had stormed out of their company once again. "This is something that… well, we can't understand. He'll come around after a bit."

And Hermione had been right, or so it had seemed. Harry had stopped giving them the evil eye and settled down, although Ron suspected that was only because he and Hermione had stopped mentioning Sirius altogether. He knew that Harry wasn't really angry with them. Ron didn't need Hermione's brains to understand that Harry needed them now much more than ever. He and Hermione were going to have to be Harry's family, not that this required any change in thinking on Ron's part. As far as he was concerned, Harry might as well be one of his brothers anyway.

Ron shifted uncomfortably on his knees as his thoughts took a slightly darker turn. Thinking of the loss of Sirius always caused Ron to assess his own role in the event. He would never tell Harry – he had no right to unload his guilty feelings on his friend right now – but Ron felt keenly that if he'd only been a little faster – a little better with his spellwork – that maybe Sirius would be alive right now. He still didn't know what Jugson had hit him with; he didn't remember much of anything after that. Well, there was _one _thing he remembered. The brains.

Ron looked down at his forearms. The gashes left by the thoughts that had trailed behind the brain were nearly gone, though the moonlight illuminated long strips of pale, still-healing skin. The Healers at St. Mungo's suspected that he would scar. Those healing cuts skin looked almost like claw marks.

Ron shivered as if a cold wind had suddenly blown into the room. Harry wasn't the only one who had something he didn't want to discuss; Ron didn't especially like remembering what he had experienced when the brain had first touched him. An image had flashed into his head, one that Ron hadn't put there. It had been one of a smiling witch handing out bright red balloons in Diagon Alley. Then it had changed, and Ron had seen a broken broomstick in front of him, and he had known that _he _had broken it and was in a lot of trouble. Then a new image had come, one of struggling lost through a blinding thunderstorm with someone at his side. Thoughts and pictures had tumbled through his head and he had been powerless to stop them. He had been elated, been miserable, been terrified beyond belief, had terribly dark thoughts the sort of which he had never imagined lay within himself.

_But they weren't my own thoughts_, Ron reminded himself. _They were someone else's. That wasn't me thinking of hitting that woman, that was someone else…_ But he still felt soiled and untidy just for having seen. In fact, some of those thoughts had been so horrible that Ron just wanted to forget…

_Then don't THINK about it! _said a voice in Ron's head.

_Fine,_ Ron responded. _I can think about my friends instead…_

But that just led him back to Harry which led him back to Sirius, and Sirius always led him back to the Department of Mysteries.

Ron sighed again. Poor Sirius. Maybe things would have been different if he'd made it back to Harry's side. Maybe one more wand on the side of good would have done the trick and Sirius could have been saved.

_And maybe not,_ said the voice in Ron's head. _Those were _Death Eaters _you were up against; it's a miracle that _you _weren't killed. Maybe if you'd made it back you'd be dead now, too._

Ron stiffened. As much as he disliked it, there was a lot of truth in that thought. He wasn't so arrogant as to think that he could have made much difference against nearly a dozen Death Eaters. Harry barely could, and Ron wasn't as good at defense as Harry was. Anyway, it didn't matter now. Sirius was dead and Ron hadn't been there for Harry when Harry had needed him. Knowing that Hermione hadn't been there either was small consolation, because someone else had managed it. Neville. Neville, of all people! Sure, he had improved vastly over the past year, but Ron was still used to the idea of his classmate as incompetent, and it was going to take more than mastering a few charms to convince him that Neville knew what he was about. It wasn't that Ron didn't like Neville, but _he_ was Harry's best friend! He should have been more careful. He should have been there.

The moon threw its silvery beams down into Ron's bedroom window as he thought about his friends. Were they sitting up late too, staring out their windows and thinking about recent events? Probably not Hermione; she wasn't the type to lose sleep over things she couldn't change. But Harry... Ron was willing to bet that he wasn't sleeping well. Ron had received a handful of letters from Harry since term had ended, and he sounded tired in every single one. Ron wasn't sure how Harry managed to sound tired on paper without saying it outright, but he did.

Hermione was worried about Harry, too; she and Ron had exchanged more letters than they had with Harry. Hermione fretted that he probably wasn't eating, and Ron said that if Harry lost weight it wouldn't be his fault. Harry always came back from the Dursleys rather thinner because they fed him the same rabbit food they fed their son, Dudley. It wasn't as if Harry would miss much by _not_ eating.

It wasn't just Harry's physical health that Ron and Hermione worried about, though – it was the fact that he had learned something from Dumbledore and he wasn't telling them what it was. Dumbledore _always _talked to Harry about events like this, and even without Sirius' death the loss of the prophecy would have been cause enough for a discussion. It had been hard for Ron to tell during that last week of school, but he thought there was more than one reason for Harry's dark mood. It wasn't just Sirius' death – it was something he'd heard in the headmaster's office. It was something he didn't like. But Harry wasn't being forthcoming, and Ron couldn't just ask him about what Dumbledore had said. If it had been any of his business Dumbledore would have told him. But they were in this together, he, Harry and Hermione; Harry had always told Ron and Hermione the whole truth. It had taken a little time after the disastrous third task of the Triwizard Tournament, but he'd done it all the same. The death of Sirius was even worse than that of Cedric Diggory – to Harry, at least – so Ron supposed that it would naturally take longer for him to start talking about things. Ron clung to the hope that Harry would include his friends again once he was ready. It was what he'd always done.

It felt like ages since Ron had seen either of his friends. School had ended, they had said farewell on the platform at Kings Cross, and that had been it. Hermione had written to Ron that she had called Harry on the _telephone_ – Ron was determined to remember that word – and that while he hadn't been talkative, he'd sounded okay. _Well,_ thought Ron, _you may be sulking around __Privet Drive__ now, Harry, but not for long!_ Harry's birthday was only a few days away, and Ron's mother had gotten the go-ahead from Dumbledore to host a party for him at the Burrow. Harry was not to be told as it was going to be a surprise.

At first Mrs. Weasley had worried that Harry might not like a surprise. She knew how Harry was faring; the Order was continuously checking up on him. To Ron's pleasure, she asked his opinion, and Ron said that he thought Harry was doing a little better and really would like to get back to the magical world, if only for a little while. Then Lupin had stopped by to have a chat with Mrs. Weasley, and Ron and Ginny had managed to eavesdrop from the stairs with a pair of Fred and George's extendable ears. They had expected to hear Order news, but to their surprise Lupin and their mother had discussed the party instead.

"I think he'd really like it," Lupin had said enthusiastically. "He's always happy to see any Order members that drop by to check in on him. Of course, I think he likes to see the Dursleys cower as much as he likes the familiar faces." Lupin chuckled halfheartedly. "The visits are helping, but he's still miserable being stuck in that house."

"Poor lamb," Mrs. Weasley murmured into her teacup. "He's grieving, and they don't understand."

"They don't _want_ to understand," said Lupin. "If Mad-Eye hadn't threatened them like he did, I think they'd be actively trying to make him as unhappy as possible. Dratted charm! It's a crying shame James didn't have –"

But Mrs. Weasley had shushed Lupin just then, and Ron and Ginny knew that she suspected they were listening. Lupin's last words had confirmed Ron's suspicions that there _were _charms on the Dursley home, but he still didn't understand why Harry had to live with them. Why couldn't Dumbledore have charmed the Burrow? Ron had made a mental note to ask Harry if he knew what Lupin had been talking about. Since that topic couldn't touch on Sirius in any way, Ron thought it would be safe.

An owl hooted just outside Ron's window. Ron jumped in surprise, banging his knuckles against the windowsill. "Ouch!" he gasped, and he stuck the smarting skin against his lips to soothe it. It was probably just Errol, out on a hunting trip. In any case it was past time for bed. The party was on and Mrs. Weasley had told Ron and Ginny that she would be getting them both up early to work on the invitations.

Ron collapsed onto his mattress with a tired sigh. He pulled his sheets around himself, turned over, and snuggled into his pillow. It was quite late, but at least he could get a few hours in before his mother came knocking in the morning.

"Take this outside, will you, Ginny dear?" said Mrs. Weasley, picking up a huge bowl of punch from the kitchen table. Ginny grimaced but had no choice other than to take it. She tottered away toward the back door, a little bit of punch sloshing out of the bowl and onto the floor.

"Oh, dear, oh, dear," said Mrs. Weasley in frazzled tones. "A sticky mess is _not_ what we need right now, everyone will be here soon – _Limpius_" The mop she had pointed her wand at leapt out of the corner and vigorously began to remove the punch from the floor. "And you, Ron," she continued, "take that tray of tea cakes and put it by the sandwiches."

Ron picked up the tray without complaint. It was Harry's birthday at last, and it had already been a long morning what with his mother bustling around the kitchen getting all the food ready. All the other Weasley children had moved out of the Burrow, so that left Ron and Ginny to help with the preparations. They were both tired of lugging parcels and food around, but they were so eager to see Harry again that the work seemed a small price to pay.

Ron reached the back door just as Ginny was coming in. She held the door for him and they shared a sympathetic smile. "We're almost done, I think," she said as he passed. "I'll get the cups for the punch and you can get the pudding."

"Mum's made enough to feed an army," said Ron.

"Well, an army's coming, isn't it?" said Ginny, smiling cheekily.

Ron grinned to himself as he crossed the yard to the long tables that had been set up to hold the food. Ginny was right – an army _was_ coming to the party. The entire D.A. had been invited, including Marietta Edgecombe. Ron and Ginny had protested, but their mother had refused to leave her out. In the end it hadn't mattered; Marietta was the only person to have refused the invitation. Even Zacharias Smith had accepted.

Ron set the tray of cakes down on one of the scant empty places still remaining on the tables. He glanced surreptitiously back toward the house, made sure his mother was otherwise occupied, and nicked a sandwich from a nearby platter. He grinned again when he remembered that Hagrid was coming. The presence of the half-giant alone necessitated a lot of food. Then there was Lupin, and Kingsley and Tonks were coming by on the pretense of having business with Mr. Weasley. The rest of the Order members were staying away, but Ron thought Harry would understand as very few of the D.A. students knew about the Order. And Fred and George were coming, and so were Charlie and Bill, who was bringing Fleur Delacour.

Everyone was coming except for Percy. "Git," Ron muttered under his breath. "Causing rows even when he's not around!" It was true; his parents had had a bitter argument over whether or not to invite their third son to the party. Ron and Ginny had listened, again from the stairs. This time they had needed no extendable ears; their parents' voices had been adequately raised to carry throughout the first floor. Mrs. Weasley was determined not to give up on Percy and couldn't bear the thought of actively leaving him out of a family gathering. "He's our son," she had pleaded. "We can't just pretend he doesn't exist!"

"You know I would do nothing of the kind, Molly," Mr. Weasley had said. "But you have to face the fact that he's not on our side!"

"Arthur, he's just confused!" cried Mrs. Weasley. "He's not thinking about what he's doing!"

"Have you forgotten the row we had last year?" Mr. Weasley said, his voice rising. "How he didn't deny my accusation? How he _moved out_?"

"No, but –"

"Have you forgotten the letter he sent to Ron?"

Ron had winced at the mention of Percy's letter. He'd torn it up and burned it in a fit of pique, but it hadn't stopped him from telling his father. The knowledge that one of his own brothers had turned traitor was like a knife in his stomach, but he'd had to say something. Percy had advised him to stay away from Harry and Dumbledore and the people who believed them, and their father was one of those people. That day it had become painfully clear to Ron that Percy was not going to change his mind. He had not come to his senses and was just as stupid and bigheaded as Fred and George had always said. Percy trying to turn his siblings against their parents wasn't something Ron was willing to hide.

Mrs. Weasley had burst into tears when Mr. Weasley mentioned the letter. Ginny had seized Ron's hand tightly, and Ron had felt his insides freeze at the sound of his mother crying. He hated that sound. And yet at the same moment that Ron's stomach had seized up, his blood had begun to boil. _Damn Percy!_ he had thought while Ginny clutched his hand, wide-eyed, and his father tried to comfort his mother in the next room. _That lousy, stinking, heartless..!_ He hated Percy for doing this to their family. He was trying to tear it apart!

Ron felt something squish through his fingers. He looked down and found the remnants of his sandwich smashed in his fist.

"Oh, no fair!" called Ginny, walking across the grass with a wobbling tower of cups in her arms. "You take a lunch break while I keep on hauling." She grinned at him to show that he was kidding, but her smile slipped when she took a good look at his face. "Is something wrong?"

"Just thinking about Percy," said Ron in a tight voice. "The git," he added darkly.

Ginny set the cups down next to the punch bowl and began arranging them. "Don't think about him just now," she said quietly. "_I_ don't want to think about him. I just want to enjoy myself today."

"Yeah," said Ron. "Me, too. But he keeps popping into my head."

"Ron, come and get the pudding!" came Mrs. Weasley's shout from the kitchen window.

Ginny grinned. "Mum'll take care of your thinking," she said. "I'm getting the feeling that now she's just _looking _for things to do."

Ron had retrieved the pudding from the house and was just setting it down on the table outside when a shout sounded from the side of the house. "Ron!" He looked up to see Hermione walking in his direction, waving merrily. She was holding a small, silver-wrapped box tied with a bright red ribbon.

"Oh, it's so good to see you," she said, giving Ron a quick hug. Ron felt his face flush when she pressed herself against him and he realized, as if for the first time, that Hermione wasn't flat-chested anymore. She let go of him and stepped back with a beaming smile on her face. She was wearing normal summer clothes – shorts and a t-shirt – but with her eyes flashing with excitement and her brown hair framing her face, Ron was struck by how pretty she looked.

"It's good to see you too," he said surprised at how steady his voice was. He felt a little unsettled by the strange realization he'd just had – that Hermione was a pretty girl. "You, erm, look nice."

Hermione's eyes lit up and Ron's heart jumped into his throat. "Really?" she said happily. "Thanks. I'd say the same about you, but you're actually rather sweaty." She laughed, and Ron, who had felt inexplicably panicky for an instant, laughed too.

"Yeah, well, Mum's been working me like a dog. Ginny, too."

Mrs. Weasley suddenly stuck her head out the kitchen window again. "Goodness, Ron, go and get changed! People are starting to show up!"

"Yes, ma'am," Ron said quietly, and Hermione laughed again.

"Okay, go. But where do I put this?" she asked.

"On that table over there," said Ron, who was already on his way inside. He hustled up the stairs and into his room where he dug into a closet, looking for some clean clothes. Oddly enough, the first thing he pulled out didn't quite satisfy him. Usually he just tossed on whatever he initially laid his hands on, but now he found himself eyeing the green t-shirt critically. Did green go with red hair? What about the brown trousers he'd pulled out of the chest of drawers? Green and brown. He didn't want to go about looking like Robin Hood, or worse, a walking, talking tree. What about white? No, Seamus wanted to play something called 'rugby' that afternoon, and it sounded pretty violent. He was liable to get grass stains and that would only make him look scruffy. A Chudley Cannons shirt? No, it was too old and faded…

"Hey, Ron! Your ickle friends are here!" Fred shouted up the stairs.

Ron rolled his eyes. He reached into his closet and pulled out a shirt with wide stripes on it in Gryffindor colors. It would have to do.

Sure enough, when Ron got downstairs he found the rest of the fifth year Gryffindors waiting for him. They all smiled at him when he arrived. "This house is _wicked,_ Ron," said Seamus, and the others voiced their agreement.

"Thanks," said Ron, grinning happily. It suddenly occurred to him that he'd forgotten to worry about his friends' impression of his house. Compared to most wizarding families, the Weasleys lived in relative poverty. They never went hungry, but everything they had felt rather… cobbled together.

"And that's a very interesting clock," said Parvati, peering over at the many-handed grandfather clock in the corner. "Oh, mortal peril! You've probably never pointed to that one, have you?"

"Um…" said Ron. He thought of the giant chessboard and the Sorcerer's Stone, crashing the Ford Anglia into the Whomping Willow, the Chamber of Secrets, Aragog, being dragged to the Shrieking Shack by Sirius Black the mass murderer, the Department of Mysteries –

"Don't think so," Ron lied glibly. Hermione raised one eyebrow and smiled knowingly at him.

"Well, dears!" said Mrs. Weasley, bustling over to them. "It's nice to see you all, I must say!"

"Thank you for inviting us, Mrs. Weasley," Lavender said politely, and the others echoed her.

Mrs. Weasley turned pink with pleasure. "Not at all, dears, not at all. I think some more of your classmates are outside, and Harry should be arriving very soon, so…"

They took her advice and trooped through the back door and into the yard where other members of the D.A. were chatting together. There were more than a few cheerful-looking packages on the table by now. When Ron saw a pretty, smiling Cho Chang place her own gift with the others he couldn't suppress a grin. _This _definitely _ought to cheer Harry up, _he thought.

"Hello, Ronald," said a dreamy voice behind him.

Ron turned to see Luna Lovegood standing there, eyes as protuberant as ever. She was wearing a frilly blue shirt and some sort of hairpiece that stuck up behind her head, making her look as if she had silvery antennae. She was carrying a large parcel with black wrapping paper. "Hi, Luna," said Ron, looking curiously at the box and wondering what had possessed her to pick such a cheerful color that would in no way make Harry think of death. "Having a nice summer?"

"Oh, yes," she said happily. "My dad and I went to Sweden."

"Find any of those Crumple-Horned Snorkacks?" said Ron.

"Sadly, no," said Luna.

"Oh," said Ron, trying to sound disappointed.

"But we did find a vacationing leprechaun," Luna said brightly.

"You – what?"

"After Dad accidentally sat on him we asked if he'd seen any Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," said Luna. "Unfortunately, he hadn't."

"Ah," said Ron. "So… if you caught a leprechaun, does that mean you're rich?"

Luna shook her head. "We've got the _Quibbler _to support us; we don't need any leprechaun gold. He seemed rather happy to hear that, so he gave us each a piece of a rainbow instead." She held up the box, and Ron suddenly understood why it was black.

"_That's_ your gift?" he said faintly.

"Mmm hmm," said Luna in her languid voice. "Dad says I can have his. I'll just go and put it on the table."

Ron stared dazedly after Luna as she drifted away. With her around you never could tell what you would hear next.

By now the yard was full of people. Hagrid had arrived and was being greeted by the nearby students. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks were there, standing near the house with Mr. Weasley. Ernie Macmillan was rather pompously speculating about what he expected to receive on his O.W.L.s as the results were due any day now. Neville was showing Hermione his new wand; his old one had been broken in the Department of Mysteries. Angelina and Alicia were chatting happily with the twins, Colin Creevey was prepping his camera, Padma Patil was laughing at a joke that Justin Finch-Fletchley had made, Ginny was whispering something in Dean's ear…

Ron was just making a mental note to have a nice, calm chat with Dean when his mother came hurrying into the yard. "They're coming, they're coming," she said urgently, and the noisy talking faded into a quiet buzz. "When they come around the corner, everyone shout 'surprise'!"

Everyone fell silent. Ron and Hermione grinned at each other from across the yard.

"...think they're in the back," Lupin's voice suddenly said, drifting through the quiet.

"What's going on?" said Harry's suspicious voice. He and Lupin suddenly rounded the corner so that they were in full view of the backyard. "Why didn't we Floo –" Harry blinked at the sudden smile on Lupin's face and looked around to see what he was staring at.

"SURPRISE!" everyone shouted as one. Colin's flash bulb went off, perfectly capturing Harry's look of shock.

A slow grin crept across Harry's face. "I am so stupid," he said.

"I can't believe you went for it," said Lupin.

"Happy birthday!" his classmates began to say, pressing forward to greet him. Some of the girls gave him hugs or pecks on the cheek, and Harry grew successively redder with each one, but the smile on his face showed just how pleased he really was.

"Right!" said Mrs. Weasley. "Let's eat!"

And so the party began. Harry didn't touch the food for a long time, being surrounded by people who wanted to talk to him. Ron waited around the edge of the group for a while, and every now and then he would catch Harry's eye, but it soon became clear that he would have to wait. He walked away from the crowd and over to the tables piled with food where Hermione was nibbling on biscuits and cheese.

"He looked pretty surprised to me," she said, looking at Harry who was grinning from ear to ear.

"Yeah," said Ron. "It's about time he had a proper birthday party."

"I hope we get a minute alone with him," said Hermione. "You know, to ask how he's doing."

"Well, keep your eyes open, I guess," said Ron. "It might be a while."

He was right; it did take quite some time before he and Hermione got a chance to talk to Harry alone. In the interval they laughed and talked with their friends and ate until they were stuffed. Ron joined in on an informal game of Quidditch and applauded as Fred and George set off some of the fireworks that had been such a success against Umbridge last year.

At long last Seamus got his game of rugby going. Most of the party guests had little or nothing to do with Muggles and therefore were intrigued by this game that seemingly had no rules. Ron thought it looked like a fantastic sport, but he took the opportunity to slip back toward the house with Harry and Hermione for a moment alone.

"Happy birthday, mate," said Ron as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Yes, happy birthday," said Hermione.

"Thanks," said Harry, who was still smiling happily. "This is really great, you know. Not just the party but getting away from the Dursleys."

"Driving you mad, are they?" said Ron.

Harry shrugged. "It's not so bad as usual, thanks to the Order. For one thing, I actually get to eat normal food instead of salad. It's kind of fun to watch Dudley choking down lettuce while I'm getting chicken."

"Listen," said Hermione, getting right to the point, "you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but Ron and I wanted to know… how you're doing."

Harry's smile softened. "I don't mind," he said quietly. "I'm doing okay, I guess. I still miss him, but I'm getting used to the idea of his being gone. I'm feeling better even though I hate myself for it at the same time."

"Don't say that," Ron said seriously.

"No, don't," Hermione agreed gently. "You have to let him go sometime or you'll never really heal. You'll never live, and he wouldn't want that for you."

Harry nodded.

"Look, we just wanted to let you know that we want to help if we can," said Ron. "You could – I don't know – unload, or something, if you want to."

"Not that we expect you to," Hermione added quickly. "But you can."

Harry blinked at both of them. His eyes seemed a little bit too bright. "Thanks," he said, and his voice sounded rather funny. "That means a lot, you know." He looked away for a moment and blinked a few more times before looking back at them. "Listen, I know I haven't been very forthcoming this summer, but we'll be taking the train back in a couple of weeks, and I've… learned some things that I think you ought to know."

"Okay," Hermione said simply, and Ron nodded and grinned.

Harry blinked again and swallowed hard. "Are you _trying _to make me cry like a girl?"

"Oh, hold on, now!" said Hermione. "I've never cared for that expression –"

"Big surprise," said Ron, and Harry laughed.

"Why is crying such an unmanly thing to do?" Hermione griped.

"Because girls do it so easily," said Ron.

"Exactly," said Harry.

Hermione sniffed. "I'd take being a girl over being a boy any day of the week."

"Yes, well, that's only because you don't know how grand it is to be male," said Ron.

"There you are, Harry!" said Mrs. Weasley, walking up to the group and cutting off Hermione's retort. "What do you say to a bit of cake?"

"That would be great," said Harry, and Mrs. Weasley beamed at him. She turned and began to walk back to the tables that held the remnants of dinner.

"I hope you like chocolate cake, because that's all we've got," she said. "I thought about making some white, too, but Ron and Ginny… Are you all right, dear?"

Ron, who had been following his mother, stopped and looked behind him. Harry hadn't moved from his place by the house. He was staring off to the left, toward the woods. His mouth worked soundlessly. Ron, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley all looked in the same direction.

Ron and Hermione gasped together; Mrs. Weasley saw it a split second later and put a hand to her mouth. Sirius Black was standing at the edge of the trees, staring fixedly at Harry.

"Sirius," Harry breathed. He took one halting step forward.

"No!" said Mrs. Weasley, jerking herself out of her shocked reverie. "It's not him, Harry. It can't be."

"He's alive," said Harry, and his voice sounded funny again. "I've been hoping and hoping –"

"_No!_" Mrs. Weasley repeated. She stepped directly in front of Harry and put one hand on each of his shoulders, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "Harry, he went through the veil. There is no coming back from that." She looked back toward the woods for a moment. Ron followed her gaze and saw that Sirius – or his impersonator – was gone.

"This is a trick," said Mrs. Weasley in her most dangerous tone. "The Aurors will find the bastard who thought he could get away with this!" Ron knew that it was a measure of just how upset she was that she would swear.

Harry closed his eyes and looked away from them all. He was swallowing over and over again. Ron averted his eyes when Harry's chin began to tremble. Harry would not want Ron to watch him shed tears, not when there were dozens of other people around.

Mrs. Weasley had already reached the house. A moment after she stepped inside, Tonks came hurrying out the back door, moving in the direction of the woods. Her heart-shaped face was like a thunderhead. Kingsley came out behind her. He did not follow but simply stood beside the door, eyes scanning the surroundings, wand held in one hand with apparent casualness. Ron was not fooled; Kingsley was ready for a fight, but he didn't want to look it in front of the other guests, most of who didn't know that he had any connection at all to Harry.

"How're you doing, mate?" Ron whispered to Harry.

Harry drew a deep breath and let it out again. "Okay," he said, and his voice was steady again.

"Mrs. Weasley's right," Hermione said quietly. "She has to be."

"I know," said Harry. His jaw tightened and his green eyes flashed. "He knew I hadn't given up hope yet."

Ron could only assume that by 'he', Harry meant 'You-Know-Who'. Ron still had trouble with the name. He couldn't even _think _it without a shudder. Harry and Hermione might be able to say it without quaking in their shoes, but they hadn't grown up in the magical world. They hadn't had that fear instilled in them from birth.

Mrs. Weasley came back out of the house. "How about some of that cake now, dear?" she said to Harry, her eyes still flashing with indignation.

Harry lifted his chin. "That'd be good," he said, sounding almost defiant.

They started back toward the rest of the party guests. No one else seemed to have noticed the watcher at the edge of the woods; they were all still cheering at the rather brutal game of rugby which was still in full swing.

Something had suddenly occurred to Ron. He twisted his head to look back at Kingsley as he spoke. "Mum, if Dumbledore's charms worked the way they're supposed to, how come someone was able to find…"

Ron froze in his tracks. He felt unable to speak or breathe as a dark-robed figure emerged from the back door of the house, wand in hand, and struck Kingsley in the back of the head, who crumpled to the ground. Ron felt his hand instinctively moving to the right-hand pocket of his trousers where his wand was sticking out. His fist closed on smooth wood just as his mother screamed.

"_Impedimentia_" Ron heard someone shout. The Death Eater staggered backwards, trying to keep his balance, and something flew out of the neck of his robes, something hanging on a very long chain. He recovered with incredible speed, straightening up and leveling his wand at Harry, who was still in the act of turning to face his attacker. His mouth opened.

Ron knew what was about to happen. His brain wasn't keeping up, but his body was. He felt his feet begin to carry him forward at a dead run.

A jet of red light flew past Ron's shoulder and into the Death Eater. But by an incredible twist of fate, the spell struck the thing hanging from the chain around the man's neck, and it burst into a thousand pieces.

Ron felt particles strike his face as he barreled toward the Death Eater. The man hadn't twitched a muscle when his necklace exploded but was finishing his incantation. He'd already said _Avada_and had started on the second word. Ron lowered his shoulder –

He slammed into the Death Eater, they toppled backwards, and the curse flew harmlessly into the air. Ron felt more particles striking his face, stinging his eyes as he and the attacker fell toward the earth. Somewhere behind him he heard somebody shriek.

Ron saw the ground rushing up to meet him just as the world flickered before his eyes.


	2. A Broken World

**A/N: **I thought that perhaps I should make everyone aware that this is not going to be a lighthearted story. That doesn't mean it's going to be a tragedy, but it will be a strong drama with some difficult moments for Ron, our Hero. That being said, I'm very, very pleased with this chapter – it's one of the strongest I've ever written, I think. It is so satisfying to read your work through again and realize that you got it right!

starsmiles: Thank you! You seem to have a sunny disposition, so I hope this chapter doesn't get you down.

J Black: Hee! Thank you very much! I know this was a really fast update but the next one will take longer because I won't have much time to work on the story for a few days.

krysalys73: Crap and blast! You write the best reviews! Oddly enough, I think there are some people out there who aren't big fans of Ron. I don't understand it, but it's certainly allowed.

Reviewer: Oooh, someone else who reads my other stories! That picks me right up. Never fear – I haven't given up on Dark Uprising but this plot (plot bunnies, I think people call them?) popped into my head and wouldn't go away. I most certainly plan to carry all my stories out to the end. Oh, and you're absolutely right about the time-turner, but Ron's not as clever as you are. His world's about to change pretty drastically, so I think we can forgive him.

crissa: Thank you!

kungzoune: Ron's definitely going to get his chance to be brave here.

Seraphim: Aha! Another closet reader of Dark Uprising. :-) I don't review absolutely everything I read, either. Anyway, like I told Reviewer, that story is still very much alive, too.

Chapter Two: A Broken World

The impact with the ground never came. Ron's entire body felt as if it were rushing forward through empty air. Colors around him blurred until he saw nothing but streaks. His fist was tangled in the Death Eater's robes; the fabric was tightly woven and smooth. Ron clung to the other man for dear life as the wind rushed by until there was a great tug on the Death Eater and he was ripped away. Ron grabbed for him but his hand closed on nothing. He was alone in the rush of color. He wanted to shout his panic but his lungs refused to take in air.

The color grayed out, the wind stopped, and an instant later Ron felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as he finally collided with the ground. It had been a screeching halt; nausea washed over him and he was forced to close his eyes. The ground beneath his hand was cold and gritty, quite unlike the soft grass at the Burrow. Ron lay there, panting, and let his head fall to the ground. His heart was pounding in his ears.

When the sick feeling in Ron's stomach had ebbed away he swallowed a few times and opened his eyes. Spots danced before him and he blinked to clear them away. Ron sat up, feeling something slide down his face as he did so. He put out his hand to catch some of the particles. Peering down into his open palm he saw what looked like sand pooled there with little shiny bits mixed in. Ron prodded the sand with one finger and uncovered a long shard of glass. "What –" he said in confusion, and looked up for the first time.

Ron's heart skipped a beat. Wherever he was, it wasn't the Burrow. He was sitting next to a ruined building that looked as if it had been destroyed some time ago. All that was left of it was the framework, but it was enough for Ron to be able to make out the outlines of the rooms that the building had once held. The wooden beams were charred black. _It burned down,_ thought Ron's still-sluggish brain. He looked at the ground around him and saw that it was plain dirt, brown and gray, and very dry. It didn't look like the kind of soil that plants could ever grow in. Looking beyond the house told Ron that trees had once grown here; many of them were still standing, but like the building, they had been burned. Their black, leafless trunks and branches stood out starkly against an iron-gray sky.

Ron stood up, not wanting to sit on that gritty, dusty ground any more. Besides, he'd never find his way back home by sitting around. Upon rising Ron noticed that garbage was strewn all about the ground, and he slowly shuffled over to the nearest bit of trash to investigate. It was a piece of wood, curved and smooth. At first Ron couldn't imagine what it was, but then he looked a little further along the ground and saw what was unmistakably the back of a chair. The curved bit of wood was one of its legs.

Cold dread washed over Ron as he surveyed the devastation around him. It wasn't garbage on the ground – it was the contents of the destroyed building which, by the looks of things, had once been a house. He walked forward cautiously, looking at the items that lay all around him. A few spoons lay half-covered by the grayish earth. Articles of dusty, rotting clothing were intermixed with frying pans, smashed picture frames, knitting needles, a doll with a broken head, and plenty of splintered wood.

There was no wind, no birds, nothing to break the absolute silence that blanketed the land. Ron had the unpleasant feeling that he was defiling the place just by being there... and yet he felt himself strangely drawn to the ruined foundation of the house. There were three charred beams, still standing upright, that had clearly been a doorframe. Ron's feet carried him toward the beams almost as if of their own accord. For a moment he gazed nervously up at the blackened doorway, then drew a deep breath and stepped through.

Broken glass and burned wood grated and snapped beneath his feet. Ron gripped his wand tightly in one hand as he slowly walked forward. Who had lived here, he wondered? Why had their home been destroyed? The scattered possessions outside the house made it clear that the place had been ransacked. The scorched earth and trees made Ron suspect that the land had been completely razed. Had someone _died_ here? The place certainly felt tomblike enough...

Ron saw something out of the corner of his eye and turned to look. Whatever it was, it was half-buried in soot and ash. Ron cautiously approached, placing his feet just so, trying to avoid the chunks of timber and roofing that littered the floor. He bent over, peering at a dusty, circular object. A dinner plate, perhaps? He stretched out a hand, pulled the object out of the rubble, and began rubbing away years of grime to get a better look.

Ron's blood froze in his veins as he stared at the thing in his hands. It was indeed the size of a dinner plate, but it was perfectly flat. Words and phrases were written around the edges – things like "School", "Home", "Work", and "You're Late". And in the middle were many hands, all with names painted on them. "Charlie", "Arthur", "Ginny", "Ron"...

It was as if the shadows had suddenly been lifted from Ron's eyes. Over there – that lump was the kitchen table. The chair back outside was from one of the chairs that went with it. The broken doll – that was Ginny's; it had been her favorite when she was little. He knew the patterns on the handles of those spoons in the yard; he'd been eating with them his whole life. Over there in that corner, faded and torn, was a large scrap of paper with the word "Chudley" on it...

A strange noise escaped from Ron's throat, one that he had never made before. His heart was racing; sickness and horror welled up inside him as he looked back at the clock face and saw that while some of the hands were aligned with "Traveling", most of them pointed straight to "Mortal Peril". Tears stung his eyes and a bitter taste filled his mouth. He had to get out of there – he was going to be sick –

Ron hurtled back toward the burned doorway. The walls of the Burrow were completely gone; it wasn't as if he was closed in, but it didn't seem to matter. He had to get out of the house.

Ron burst through the doorway and ran ten more feet before stumbling over the arm of the shattered living room sofa. He tumbled onto the ground, feeling the contents of his stomach roiling mercilessly. He dropped his wand and the clock face and bent double, retching until it seemed that he had dispensed of breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Ron looked up, chest heaving, and saw a sweater lying nearby. He crawled away from the mess behind him and over to the shirt. With shaking hands he turned it over and found a large "F" knitted onto the front.

Ron couldn't stop the full-throated wail that burst from his lips. He seized the sweater and clutched it to his chest, not caring that it reeked of decay. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks as he held onto the sweater as if it were a lifeline. What had _happened?_

----------

Something was tickling Ron's face. Drowsily he raised one hand to swipe at his cheek. He was in the middle of a strange dream; it wasn't time to wake up yet. He was dreaming that something horrible had happened to the Burrow. The house was destroyed and everyone was gone, and he had no idea of what to do about it.

Ron felt the offending object brush over his cheek again. Irritably he swiped at his cheek once more, felt nothing, and began to roll over to snuggle into his pillow.

His bed was unbelievably hard. It was lumpy, too, and his pillow smelled moldy.

Ron's eyes flew open and his throat constricted. With a sinking heart he realized that it was no dream; the charred remains of his family's house lay not twenty feet away. He had fallen asleep on Fred's old sweater and spent the entire night on the ground.

Ron sat up with a groan, his muscles complaining after lying so long on such an unforgiving surface. The morning air was cool, making him shiver. Ron didn't know why he hadn't awoken in the middle of the night with a chill, but he was glad he hadn't. Waking in the darkness next to the ruins of his house would have been terrifying; doing it in the daylight was bad enough.

A slight breeze was blowing, kicking up eddies of dust on the parched ground. When Ron brushed his cheek with one hand his fingers came away gray, and he realized that it was the dust that had finally awoken him. He shook his head and a light shower of dirt fell from his hair. He felt filthy and realized that he must look it, too.

A loud grumble suddenly sounded from Ron's stomach, awakening him to the fact that he was famished. He had eaten as much as he could hold at Harry's birthday party, but many hours had passed since then. There was nothing to eat here; if anyone had escaped the destruction of the Burrow – _don't think about that!_ thought Ron – they had done it a long time ago. Ron didn't understand this at all. _Something_ had happened when he'd tackled the Death Eater, but he didn't know what. Was he in a parallel universe of some sort? What had happened to the Death Eater, anyway? He and Ron had been moving forward through that color and wind together, but they'd gotten separated at some point.

_That's neither here nor there,_ thought Ron. _You need to get some food and then you can figure out what's happened._ But where exactly was he to go?

Hogwarts was the first place that came to mind, but Ron immediately dismissed it. True, it was one of the safest places in the wizarding world, but he wasn't in the normal wizarding world anymore, and he didn't know how to find Hogwarts anyway. He'd only ever gotten to it by taking the train which left from Kings Cross in London at a specific time on a specific day –

_London_ The name was a revelation. He could go to London! That was a place that he knew how to find, and he knew of at least five locations to check there for family or friends. Bill had a flat in town, and so did Fred and George – they had only recently moved out of the Burrow. Then there was the Leaky Cauldron which led to Diagon Alley, St. Mungo's, and the Ministry of Magic itself. There was Grimmauld Place, too, but he wasn't quite sure of how to find it. He'd need a map or some Floo powder.

_But what if the whole world is like this?_ said a voice inside Ron's head. _What if even __London__ has been destroyed? The Ministry, __St.__ Mungo's, Diagon Alley... they might all be gone. Hogwarts might be gone!_

Ron swallowed, feeling nauseous again. There was nothing he could do if that were true; he couldn't stay here and he had nowhere else to go. He had to get to London, and if it was gone... well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now he had to think about two things: food and how he was to get to the city.

For a few moments Ron sat still, completely stymied. London wasn't exactly close; it would take several days to walk there, and while there was probably food and water in town he had neither with him at the moment. There were four magical ways of getting from here to there, and none of them were options. Ron didn't know how to Apparate, he had no portkeys to London and couldn't make one, he didn't have a broomstick, and there was no Floo Powder.

But wait a minute… it wasn't necessarily true that he couldn't get to London by magical means. Apparition and portkeys were definitely out, but the fireplace was still standing. Ron could see the great wall of bricks rising up amid the rubble. It was unlikely that the family's Floo powder would have escaped the blaze that had destroyed the Burrow, but it was worth looking. Perhaps he would be lucky.

Ron got to his feet and walked determinedly back toward the house. His initial horror at discovering that it was indeed _his_ house had faded away; he had a sense of purpose now and it overwhelmed his desire to stay out of the Burrow. He passed back through the ruined doorway and picked his way across the wreckage to the enormous fireplace.

Now, if he could only find the flowerpot! That was where his parents had stored the Floo powder. The problem was that it hadn't always been kept covered. If it had spilled or if burning embers had dropped into it from above, the powder would be long gone.

The flowerpot was not in its usual location on the hearth. There was nothing on the fireplace at all save for cold, gray ash. Just to the left was a huge pile of rubble and blackened wood, and the flowerpot was nowhere to be seen.

By now Ron knew that the search was probably futile, but he refused to give up just yet. Bending down, he saw the handle of a poker sticking out of the pile of rubble. He seized the handle and pulled it free with a mighty jerk. It was harder to loose than he had anticipated; apparently the wreckage had been settling for some time. He took the poker in both hands and began stabbing the pile. It was hard work as the ash and soot seemed to have solidified, but bit by bit chunks began falling away, revealing more items that Ron recognized. There was a chipped teacup, a partially burned book, bottles and vials from the upstairs Potions cabinet, a hairbrush, and even a toilet seat. Ron smiled wistfully as he uncovered this last object, thinking of his twin brothers and their penchant for sending people toilet seats as gag gifts. What he wouldn't give to see one of their smirking faces right now!

Doggedly Ron chipped away at the pile with the poker. Coat hangers, metal hinges, a cauldron… all of it was useless. There was no point in looking for the flowerpot anymore. Even if any of the Floo powder had remained after the fire, it was surely mixed in with the ashes now.

Ron was just about to throw the poker down in defeat when he saw something glinting amid the char. He stretched out his hand, grasped the small portion of the object that was showing, and easily tugged it free. Even though the thing in his hand was coated with grime, Ron knew what it was immediately. It was the finest thing his mother had owned – a brooch in the shape of a flower. The stones set into the petals and leaves were real, he knew. It had once belonged to his Grandma Weasley, his father's mother, a woman Ron had never met as she had died before he was born. Ron knew the pin's story well; Grandma Weasley had given the brooch to Ron's father as a gift to his future wife. Ron's mother had since promised to pass it on to Ginny when she got married.

Ron carefully prodded at the place where he had found the jewelry, looking for more of his mother's belongings. The wooden box that had held the brooch was nowhere to be found; it had either burned away or become separated from the brooch when the upper floors collapsed. However, Ron did find a broken string of pearls, a few earrings, and a fancy hairpin, all of which he pocketed with the brooch. If he ever found his mother again, she would surely be glad to see the items.

After all his work on the pile Ron was sweating, tired, and thirsty. He sat down on the pile to breathe and think, not caring that it would leave black smears on the seat of his trousers. What now? Maybe he ought to walk to Ottery St. Catchpole, the nearest town, and see if he could get a ride to London from there. He could hitchhike, stow away, or perhaps even barter passage with a few of the earrings. Those, the hairpin, and even the pearls he would be willing to part with, but he could never give up the brooch.

_Hold on now, _thought Ron. _There's one more thing to try._ It was a possibility as remote as finding Floo powder had been, but it was worth a shot. The Burrow had had a cellar, the door to which had been magically concealed. Ron remembered his father and mother charming the door in the ground just a few summers ago; the spellwork had been tricky and his parents had been very pleased with themselves when they had succeeded. They had done it after Harry, Ron and Hermione had rescued the Sorcerer's Stone from You-Know-Who's clutches, and all the Weasley children had known that their parents were making a place for the family to hide should the Dark Lord rise to full power once again. It had become the place where Mrs. Weasley stored her jars of canned fruits and vegetables, where Fred and George had hidden some of their inventions, and also where the broomsticks were kept.

The more he thought about it, the more excited Ron became. The cellar had been separate from the house; you had to go through the door in the ground to get into it, and from the looks of things, whoever had burned the house down had simply come to destroy. It didn't seem likely that they would have stuck around to look for secrets.

Ron quickly got up from the pile of rubbish and picked his way out of the house again, hoping against hope that the cellar remained intact. He hurried around to the west side of the Burrow and soon found what he was looking for. A burned trunk was all that remained of the apple tree that had marked the location of the cellar door. Ron felt around in the dirt with his foot until he found something other than solid earth. The _thud_ that sounded when his foot made contact with the wooden door sent his spirits soaring like a bird. He dropped to his knees and felt around with his hands, finally locating the wrought iron handle.

There was a password. No one could enter the cellar unless they first spoke it. "Sparking Squirrel," said Ron, smiling at the memory of the time that Fred and George had experimented on the unfortunate creature they'd found sitting on their windowsill one spring morning. He wasn't quite sure what they'd done, but the sight of a squirrel whizzing around outside like a deflating balloon, red and purple sparks flying from its tail, had startled the rest of the family during breakfast. Ron had thought he would die laughing. Even Mrs. Weasley had found it amusing enough to not punish her twin sons.

A loud clunk sounded as the lock gave way. Ron tugged on the invisible handle and a rectangular hole appeared in the ground as the door opened. Hastily he descended the stone steps into the cool darkness below.

"_Lumos_," said Ron, pulling his wand from his pocket. The tip flared to life, illuminating shelves of jars, boxes, and odds and ends. The preserved food was a welcome sight, but that of the multiple broomsticks leaning against the far corner of the cellar was even more so.

Ron laughed for joy as he took the first broomstick in his hands. It was his, the one his parents had bought for him after he had been made a prefect. The Cleansweep Eleven wasn't in league with Harry's Firebolt or Malfoy's Numbus Two Thousand and One, but it was quite a decent broom. Ron thought he had done rather well with it once he had overcome his fear of playing Quidditch in front of a crowd.

Now that he had his mode of transportation secured, Ron's thoughts turned to food. He wasn't sure how long canned goods were supposed to last and he had no idea how long these jars had been sitting here, but he was very hungry. A careful look at a jar of green beans revealed no evidence of mold or rot, so Ron lost no time in breaking the seal and digging in with his hands. After emptying the jar he found a few dusty bottles of butterbeer and cracked one open along with some peaches. Green beans, peaches, and butterbeer made an odd sort of meal, but Ron thought it all tasted very good indeed.

Ron wiped his hands on a bit of cloth after finishing the peaches as they were sticky from the syrup. His stomach was full and it was time to be going; he wanted to reach London before dark. Still, it would be foolhardy not to take some of the food with him. Something was very wrong in the world, and Ron was completely on his own. He looked around the cellar with wand held aloft until he found a knapsack and a ball of twine. He took a little bit of everything and put it into the sack – beans, tomatoes, pickles, and butterbeer. If London didn't work out then perhaps he could fly back here and get some more provisions. The only other thing he took was an old cloak of Bill's that had been mothballed inside a chest with other articles of clothing. Ron had no desire to spend another night in the open without something to wrap up in.

After stuffing the cloak into the knapsack with the bottles and jars, Ron tied everything to the tail of his broom with the twine. He ascended the steps with broom in hand, found the cellar door, and pushed it closed once again. The lock fell back into place with an audible click. Ron gave it one last tug to make sure that the door was secure and then kicked some dirt back over it.

The sky was as hard and gray as it had been the day before. Ron hadn't seen a single ray of sunshine since he'd arrived and he was beginning to wonder if the sun ever came out here. That sky coupled with the burned trees and parched earth gave the distinct impression of a cursed bit of land.

Ron took one long, last look at the melancholy remains of the Burrow. He was still unable to fathom what had happened to it and to him. _This isn't really my home,_ he thought. _This isn't the world I belong in._ He turned away, mounted his broomstick, and kicked off from the ground.

Ron flew forward silently, keeping close to the earth. In a completely lifeless region the sight of anything flying through the air would surely attract attention and that was not what Ron wanted. He was heading north, looking for the Muggle road that went northeast to London. If he found that road he would have no trouble finding the city.

It didn't take long for the landscape to change. One moment Ron was flying alongside dead, blackened trees and the next he was amid green, healthy ones. Looking back, he saw that there was no gradual change at all from dead to living; it looked as if whoever had destroyed the Burrow had simply ruined all the land around it within a certain radius. Ron shivered although the day was fast growing warmer. Who hated his family so much that they would scourge the earth where they had lived?

Ron turned to face forward again and his heart gave a jump. There it was – the road! He pulled his broomstick to a stop and looked around, watching for Muggle cars.

It was very quiet. A slight breeze was stirring the leaves of the trees but little else was moving. There were no cars at all on the road, and Ron thought this very odd indeed. He had never seen the road empty before, and though he hadn't been near it frequently, something told him that this was not normal. He felt sure that back in the proper world there would be Muggles all up and down the street.

_Oh well, _thought Ron. _Nothing to do but press on now._ He leaned forward again and the broomstick flew on.

For hours Ron flew, moving as quickly and as high as he dared. Only twice did he see a vehicle. They began as small specks off in the distance, quickly growing to much larger sizes. Each time Ron ducked into the trees with his broomstick and hovered there, waiting for the Muggles to pass. The machines that he saw were too big to be cars; Ron thought they were buses. Each was gray with black stripes, and Ron was forcibly reminded of the bars of a prison. It was hard to see through the leaves of the trees, but he thought there were passengers inside the buses. Both were heading southwest, away from the city.

The complete desolation was beginning to wear on Ron. The road itself was in disrepair; there were cracks everywhere from which weeds were springing up. Now and then he would pass a car that looked as if it had been sitting on the side of the road for ages. The tires on the wheels looked misshapen and the doors were rusty more often than not. Sometimes Ron could see a village or town in the distance, but there were no signs of life there, either. Everything was very still, and Ron wondered if all the birds had died.

Finally, in the late afternoon, Ron thought he was nearing his destination. He was flying past buildings now, not trees, and the number of nearby houses was increasing steadily. With no small amount of relief, he found that there were signs of life here. There were lights on in some of the windows, and more than once Ron saw people moving around inside the buildings.

Another half hour passed, taking Ron into the city. He was flying by banks, businesses, restaurants, parks, and flats but there was nary a pedestrian to be found. Only occasionally did an automobile rumble by, and they were nearly always the gray and black striped buses that Ron had seen before, packed with people. Always Ron ducked into an alleyway when the buses came near, and no one ever noticed him. The people in the buses didn't even seem to be looking out the windows. Ron's feeling of dread mounted the farther he went. Where were all the Muggles? Why were the ones he saw always inside a bus or a building? And what was that black building in the distance? Ron had been to London enough times to know that the tall, dark spire he saw rising behind St. Paul's was not supposed to be there.

Ron rounded the next bend and stopped cold. The street in front of him had been completely destroyed. Bits of brick, metal, and glass lay strewn about. The road was smashed; pavement had been flung in chunks every which way, exposing metal piping beneath. All of it had the same quiet, settled atmosphere that had been so prevalent at the Burrow. This devastation had happened some time ago.

A soft scratching sound suddenly came from behind and Ron jerked his hands on his broomstick, whirling to see what was there. His eyes feverishly scanned the buildings and shadows and found nothing. The only sound was the frantic pounding of blood in his ears. Slowly Ron turned his broom around to face forward again. _Something _had been behind him – he was sure of it. Something had made that scratching sound, but he couldn't imagine what. There was no one outside in the city except for him!

Ron cautiously flew on, following the ruined road. The wreckage continued, and looking down side streets showed Ron similar destruction. He was at a complete loss to understand what had happened, but it looked like a war had been going on. Every now and then Ron twisted to look behind him, but every time he found nothing. Not a soul was in sight.

The next sound that Ron heard caught him completely off guard. Down one of the side streets he could hear the unmistakable noise of laughter and talk. Relief flooded through him. Perhaps this wasn't a world gone mad after all; maybe it was just a world in recovery. Without hesitation he turned his broom sharply and darted off down the street in the direction of the sound.

Ron slowed his flight as the laughter grew louder. He was very close now; he could hear the sound of something else mixed in with the voices. It was an odd sort of clanking noise – metal on metal. Curious, Ron dismounted his broom and tiptoed to the corner of the nearest building. Apparently it had once been several stories tall, but the upper floors were missing. There were still two stories' worth of wall standing, though, and it was more than enough to keep Ron concealed.

The voices and clanking were growing louder; the sources of the sounds were approaching Ron's position on the other side of the wall. Very carefully Ron leaned to one side to peek around the building.

Three men in long, dark robes were walking down the street perpendicular to Ron's, herding before them two lines of chained figures. All of the prisoners wore manacles on their wrists and ankles which were chained to the person in front of and behind them, so that they made two long strings of people. Their clothes were dirty and torn; some of them had no shoes. Their hair was straggly, their eyes downcast. Not a single one noticed the shock of bright red hair peeking around the corner just across the street. Neither did the three men who were following; they were taking turns swigging an amber liquid out of a long bottle. Their speech was so slurred that Ron could barely make out what they were saying. One of them carried a whip that he would occasionally crack; the prisoners flinched at the noise and continued shuffling forward.

As the three robed men staggered past, now singing a song about beer, Ron caught a glimpse of something in the nearest man's hand. It was a bit of polished wood, about ten inches long, tapering to a point…

_A wand._ The three men were wizards! Ron jerked back around the corner and put a hand over his mouth to smother the cry of fear that threatened to escape him. His breath was coming hard and fast and his heart was pounding like a kettledrum. Wizards with their wands out for the world to see, right in the middle of a destroyed London? Put that together with the prisoners and it could only mean one thing. Ron was willing to bet anything that the captives were Muggles and that the non-magic population had been subjugated. But _when_ had this happened?

Ron walked blindly back the way he had come, hearing the drunken wizards and chained Muggles shuffling away. He barely saw the broken street beneath his feet. The world _had _gone mad after all. What was he to do? Where was he to go? Salt stung his eyes as tears welled up in them once more. He felt completely and utterly helpless. He had reached London only to find that everything he knew was upside-down, and –

A strong hand suddenly clamped itself over Ron's mouth and he felt himself jerked into the body of someone behind him. Instinct kicked in and Ron's hands flew up to try and wrest the attacker's arm away from his face. He clawed at the hand that smelled strongly of sweat and dirt, and the man behind him cursed through his teeth. He was trying to wrestle one of Ron's hands to his side. Ron jerked and kicked, trying to reach his wand, struggling like a wild thing until he felt sharp, cold steel digging into the skin of his neck.

Ron stopped fighting immediately. The tip of the dagger had already pierced his skin; he could feel warm blood trickling down the side of his throat.

"That's it," the man said softly. "Nice and easy. I'm going to take my hand away, and if you shout I promise you that it's the last thing you'll ever do. Understand?"

Ron nodded beneath the man's iron grip. He had no other choice.

"All right," said the man, and he took his hand away from Ron's mouth but kept the dagger in place at his throat. "Turn around."

Ron turned very slowly, feeling the cold edge of the blade slide across his neck as he did so. His attacker's eyes gazed back at him out of a round face. He was of medium height and a rather stout build, youngish, in his mid twenties by Ron's estimate. One of his hands kept the dagger pointed at Ron's jugular. The other, which had been around Ron's mouth moments before, was now gripping a wand. He was not wearing wizard's robes but rather sturdy Muggle clothing, stout boots, gloves and a belt that was hung with several knives. He was staring at Ron with a very odd look on his face. "Who are you?" he said suspiciously.

There was something familiar about the man, but Ron couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. The face seemed like one he had seen before, but Ron was sure he had never met this man in his life. And then there was the voice; like the face, there was something about it that tickled the back of Ron's mind.

Ron licked his lips nervously. "Are you a wizard?" he ventured.

The point of the dagger dug a little deeper into Ron's skin. "Who are you?" the man repeated. "Speak, or you're dead."

Ron believed him. "R-Ron Weasley," he stammered.

The man's eyes widened. "Liar," he whispered, but the look on his face was one of shock and uncertainty.

"W-why would I lie?" Ron managed.

"Ron Weasley is dead," said the man, pushing a little harder on the dagger. Ron felt a new trickle of blood begin to fall down his neck. "But if you're not the spitting image of him, I'm a blind fool." The hand clutching the wand suddenly shot out, pushing Ron into the crumbling wall of a building. The dagger was cutting painfully into his neck; the man's face was inches from his. Ron lifted his chin, pressing his head back into the wall, trying to get away from the blade. "Who are you?" the man insisted angrily. "Who sent you?"

Ron looked straight into the man's face. It was contorted with rage, and yet it didn't seem like the kind of face that belonged to someone who would kill a teenage boy he had just met in the street. Ron wracked his brain, desperately trying to figure out why that round face and those brown eyes looked so familiar…

It hit him like a bolt of lightning. But it wasn't possible!

"Neville?" Ron whispered.

The man's jaw dropped. For an instant a look of wonder replaced the anger on his face, but just as suddenly the warrior's visage returned and the pressure was back on the dagger. Ron squeezed his eyes shut, expecting his throat to be cut at any moment.

"How do you know me?" Neville hissed.

"I'm Ron!" Ron cried in a strangled voice, still struggling to get away from the knife. "You're my roommate at Hogwarts!"

Neville shook his head. "I always knew he was deranged," he said as if to himself, "but I never thought he'd try anything like this. Not his own brother!"

Ron didn't know what Neville was talking about. Why did he think he was dead? "You have to believe me!" he gasped.

"If you're Ron," said Neville, "then tell me something that only Ron would know. Something about me."

For a moment it was impossible to think; Ron's fear and confusion completely overwhelmed his brain. But that dagger was an inescapable reality, and he scrambled for an answer. "I… I saw you at St. Mungo's!" he said desperately. "The three of us saw you – me and Harry and Hermione! W-we got roped into visiting L-Lockhart by a Healer and saw you coming out with your grandmother! Sh-she was mad that you hadn't told us about your parents…"

The dagger vanished from Ron's throat so quickly that he nearly collapsed in relief. Still gasping, he looked fearfully at Neville who was staring back at him as if he were a ghost. "I never told anyone about that," he whispered.

"Why do you think I'm dead?" Ron said shakily. "Why are you so much older?"

Neville sheathed his knife in his belt, still looking stunned. "You vanished from your house ten years ago," he said quietly. "From Harry's birthday party. I was there; I saw."

Neville's words sent Ron's mind reeling again. "Ten years?" he stammered. He looked around at the destroyed street. "What's happened to everything?"

Neville gave Ron a pitying look. "I don't think I'm the best person to answer that," he said. He looked cautiously about the street, stretched out a hand, and helped a very wobbly Ron across the rubble that lay at the foot of the wall where he'd been leaning. "I think I'd better get you to a safe house. Our leader can answer your questions, but he'll want to make sure that you're who you say you are, too."

"Who's your leader?" Ron said dazedly as Neville picked up the Cleansweep and led him down the street.

Neville fixed Ron with a pointed stare. "Harry Potter."


	3. The Test

**A/N: **I hope everyone enjoys the update.  Please take the time to tell me what you think when you finish!  And let me just say to all the repeaters that I really, really appreciate your continued feedback.  It can be really hard to think of new things to say sometimes but some of you just keep on writing.  Reviews are what keep authors excited about writing; to know that people are actually reading your work is a wonderful thing.  So thanks to all of you who have reviewed – you guys are the only reason I put my ideas down on paper.  Otherwise they would remain forever in my head, never fully realized.

krysalys73: You, of course, are a dear, sweet uber-repeater.  I very much appreciate the comment that the writing is "clear" and "vibrant".  I know I've said it before but I feel that I've really improved from when I first started posting.  Personally I've been very satisfied with the way this story is coming out.

Seraphim: Yeah… Ron needs more than a few hugs.   You'll want to give him more after this chapter, too.  Which brother… you can probably figure that out from this chapter, but it will all get spelled out in the next one.

J Black: Thank you!  Mmm, I love the "wow" reviews.  :-)

starsmiles: I hope this bleak future doesn't make you (and everyone else) think that I am too pessimistic.  On the contrary – I believe in happy endings, so this story will definitely end with hope.

kungzuone: Thank you, and here you go!

LovinsomeElrond: Hey, nice to see you again!  Thanks for reviewing.  I'm really happy to hear that you've enjoyed reading the other things I wrote.  Everyone wants to be one of those authors that people read and bookmark.

TheLordDragon: Thank you so much!  Yeah, this story will probably get updated faster than Dark Uprising just because it's newer, fresher and a nice change for me.  Darn plot bunnies won't leave me be.

soquester: That was a really insightful comment about readers learning about the world along with Ron.  It just naturally happened as a consequence of writing from Ron's POV.  I've been toying with the idea of eventually having some interludes of Harry and Hermione's POV but I don't know if that will happen.  Enjoy your vacation!

Reviewer: It must really stink when authors quit in the middle of the story.  I posted chapter 7 of Dark Uprising last Friday, by the way.  School's out?  Ah, I remember when I used to be off for the summer…

Skye0906: Hi there!  I haven't forgotten who you are.  You were one of the first people to really start reviewing in earnest for Guardians and then all of a sudden you vanished (kind of like Ron).  :-)  A lot of ink has been spilled since you last reviewed… by a lot of people, I imagine.  Anyway, it's nice to hear from you again and I'm glad you like the story so far!

Chapter Three: The Test

Neville and Ron carefully picked their way across the broken pavement of the street, heading back the way Ron had come.  They could no longer hear the sound of the singing wizards, but Neville was still as tense as a tightly coiled spring.  He kept close to the buildings and made sure that Ron did the same.

They reached an intersection.  Neville motioned for Ron to keep back before he carefully peered around the corner.  He looked in every direction for a few long moments – left, right, straight ahead, even up and down.  Finally he leaned back, seeming satisfied.  Without a word he opened a small pouch at his side and pulled out what Ron recognized as a silvery invisibility cloak.  _So he _was_ following me!_ thought Ron.

"You'd better wear this," Neville said softly.  "Between your shirt and your hair, you stand out a mile."

Ron looked down at his red-and-gold striped shirt.  The dust and dirt that coated him did dim the colors a bit, but they were conspicuous next to the browns and grays that Neville was sporting.  Ron took the cloak from Neville's outstretched hand and swung it about his shoulders.

"This is very important," Neville continued in that same soft voice.  "From now on you must be absolutely silent.  This part of town is really no more dangerous than most others, but you don't know what you're up against and I haven't got another cloak.  Don't say anything until I give you the go-ahead.  If anything happens to me, find Twenty-Six Mulberry Street and knock three times.  And whatever you do, stay away from St. Paul's."

Ron didn't entirely understand, but he merely nodded and pulled the cloak over his head.

Neville peeked around the corner again, took another look, and then ducked around it.  Ron followed, feeling a slight tug on the invisibility cloak as he did so.  Looking down he saw that Neville was gripping a small handful of the fabric in one hand.  They moved as quickly as they could while still hugging the walls of the buildings.

Ron's mind was spinning dizzily from the things he'd just heard.  He wanted to ask questions but he'd given Neville his word that he'd keep his mouth shut.  As a result he was forced to simply think about what he had learned, and slowly the pieces began to fall together.

Neville said that Ron had disappeared from Harry's birthday party ten years ago.  All Ron knew was that he had been at the party one moment and the next he'd been at a ruined version of his house.  If he had indeed traveled forward in time, then it explained a lot.  He wasn't in another universe – he was in the future, and obviously a lot had happened in the ten years he had missed.  For him they had passed in the blink of an eye and he was no older than he'd been at the party.

How exactly had he gotten into the future, though?  This puzzle took a bit more thought for Ron to sort out.  It had something to do with the Death Eater.  Ron had collided with him, and that's when time had sped up so drastically.  It was almost as if the man's robes had been a portkey or something.

_No,_ thought Ron.  _If there had been a portkey we'd have ended up in another place, not another time._  Something else must have happened.  The Death Eater hadn't cast a spell on him; he had been smack in the middle of _Avada__ Kedavra._  With some relief Ron realized that he must have succeeded in interrupting the curse.  Neville was taking him to see Harry, so Harry was still alive.  Had anyone else cast a spell?  Ron tried hard to remember.  The Death Eater had done something to fell Kingsley, then he had started to curse Harry, and that's when Ron had charged him.

That didn't seem quite right.  Something else had happened between the time Ron had started running and when he'd hit the Death Eater.  Ron screwed up his nose, thinking hard, and the sound of someone shouting "_Impedimentia_" came floating back to him.  That's right; he remembered now.  The Death Eater had been lucky.  The spell had hit the thing around his neck and it had shattered.  The pieces had flown right into Ron's face –

_A time-turner._  Suddenly everything made perfect sense.  The pieces of the hourglass had touched both Ron and the Death Eater and they had been catapulted through time.  From what Ron knew about time-turners, they could be very unpredictable if broken.  He was fortunate not to have been sent back to the days of the dinosaurs.  The fact that the time-turner had been malfunctioning could also explain the fact that the Death Eater hadn't arrived in the same time as Ron.  _Maybe _he_ got sent back to the prehistoric era,_ thought Ron.  With grim satisfaction he imagined the man appearing in a nest of hungry pterodactyls.  Maybe he'd become dinosaur chow thousands of years ago.

With that mystery solved, Ron's thoughts turned to his family.  What had their fate been?  It looked as if the clock had stopped when the house was destroyed, forever preserving the motions of his siblings and parents at that moment.  Some of the hands had been fixed on "Mortal Peril", but just as many had been stuck at "Traveling".  Ron suspected that they had probably been at the Burrow when it was attacked.  Some of them had been fleeing when the clock was destroyed, and the others had yet been inside.  Silently Ron prayed that they were all still alive.  But the Burrow had clearly burned down years ago, and everything he'd seen since arriving in this time was evidence that a war was going on.  Muggles were prisoners and wizards were their jailors.  London was in shambles, and here was Neville, armed for battle.  If his family had escaped the destruction of the Burrow, they'd have had a lot to live through afterward, too.

Ron and Neville had been walking for half an hour when Neville suddenly hissed, "Hide!"

Ron followed his lead and ducked behind a pile of stones and twisted metal.  "What –" he whispered, but Neville only made an angry shushing motion and Ron shut his mouth.  Then he heard what Neville must have noticed before – the sound of talking.  It slowly grew louder as the owners of the voices approached, and soon the clanking of chains was again audible.  Ron thought he knew what was coming.  The column of shuffling prisoners, walking bent with heavy burdens on their backs, did not surprise him, but the men following them did.  They did not wear robes but rather denim trousers and black shirts with the letters "MCF" embroidered in white upon the right breast.  Were these men wizards?  Ron couldn't be sure; magical folk did sometimes wear Muggle clothing, but these men didn't seem to have wands.

The prisoners slowly moved out of sight.  Neville waited for a full five minutes after Ron could no longer hear them before coming out from behind the rubble.

After a few more minutes of walking Neville whispered, "Very close now."  They were heading down a street that looked just like all the others to Ron; torn pavement and fallen lampposts were no longer a shocking sight.  Halfway down the street Neville stopped their progress.  "Here," he said softly.

"Where?" Ron whispered back.  All the buildings were half-destroyed.

Neville pulled a small piece of parchment from his robes, used his wand to scribble a few words upon it, and handed it to Ron.  "Read this aloud," he said, "but do it _quietly_."

"The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at Twenty-Five Mulberry Street," Ron recited.  He looked over at Neville in confusion.  "But earlier you said it was number..."  He cut off as a tall brownstone suddenly appeared between two of the ruined buildings, squeezing them outward.  The building, whole and undamaged, looked very strange amid the surrounding desolation.

Neville hustled Ron up the steps to the new building.  Ron barely had time to register a brass knocker shaped like a bird in flight before the door had opened and he had been pushed inside.  The foyer with its hardwood floor, flowered wallpaper, and burning oil lamps looked cheerful and welcoming after everything else that Ron had seen.

"Longbottom!" said a man's voice.  "You're very late.  We were starting to think that something had happened to you."  Ron looked around and jumped when he found himself looking at the very last person he wanted to see – Severus Snape.  The ten years Ron had missed lay heavily on the Potions master; his face was lined as it had not been before and there were streaks of gray at his temples.  His hair was longer than ever, and Snape had tied it behind his head in a long tail.  His frame did not seem quite as slender as it once had, but Ron doubted that the extra bulk was fat.  There was an aura of toughness about Snape that had not been there before, one that was only enhanced by the numerous scratches that were healing on his face and neck.  He looked as if he had only just come from a fight.

"I was delayed," Neville said flatly.  "We have a guest tonight."  He reached forward and gave a tug on the invisibility cloak which slithered off Ron's shoulders and puddled around his feet.

One heartbeat later Snape's wand was pointing straight at Ron.  His expression was one that someone might wear while looking at a coiled viper.  "What is this illusion?" he hissed.

"It's no illusion," said Neville.  "This _is_ Ron."

"I doubt that," said Snape.  His voice was every bit as hard as his eyes, cold and unforgiving.  "I suppose you just found him wandering about outside our headquarters?"

"Some distance away, actually," said Neville.  "I thought he was a duplicate myself until I asked him to tell me something personal.  And he delivered."

"The Legions have tried to infiltrate us before," said Snape, not looking the least bit convinced.  "If he is an imposter, then he's a very good one, and the Tyrant has sunk lower than I could have imagined.  If he is not... then he has a story to tell."  The look on his face told Ron very plainly which one Snape thought he was.

"Let him see Harry," said Neville.  "Bring one of his siblings in, too.  Between them they should be able to decide whether he's the real thing or not."  Ron's heart leapt in his chest.  At least _some_ of his family was still alive!

"And if he is an assassin?" said Snape.  "We will be taking him straight to the person he's been sent to kill!"

"Please," said Neville, "give him the benefit of the doubt, if only because I say so.  Set a guard; take his wand; you'll see he's not tried to use it."

"He still has his -?"  Snape's eyes flashed.  "Convincing as he may be, even you know better than that!"

Neville flushed a deep red.  "You are right," he said deferentially.  "My apologies."  It was more than obvious to Ron that whatever had happened to the rest of the world, Snape could yet instill fear in his former pupils.

Snape turned his piercing black eyes upon Ron.  "Keep your hands where I can see them," he said curtly.  Ron did the only thing he could think of to show that he wasn't hiding anything; he raised both hands before him palm up while Snape confiscated his wand.  "I suppose Potter is the reason you're here?"

"Not really," Ron said nervously.  "I came to London looking for my brothers.  Neville found me in the street."

"Which brothers?" Snape asked impatiently.

"Bill and Fred and George," said Ron.  "They've got flats here, or they used to, at least."

Snape and Neville looked at each other.  Ron did not like the glance that passed between them as it was obviously full of meaning.  "Very well," said Snape.  "We will take you to see Potter.  But know this: if you are an imposter, you and your master will both be _very _sorry.  You will not leave this place alive and I will personally see to it that he does not long survive, either."

Ron swallowed hard and nodded.

"Lead on, Longbottom," said Snape.  Neville took one last glance at Ron and started off down the hall.  Ron felt a sharp prod in the back from Snape's wand and he followed.

It only took Ron a few moments to realize that the house had been magically expanded.  The hall went on and on with other corridors branching off.  Now and then they would pass another room.  There were people inside some of those rooms, some of whom were dressed like Neville in brown and gray and wearing belts hung with knives.  Others wore simple wizards' robes.  One and all they watched curiously as Neville, Ron and Snape walked by.  Some of them pointed at Ron and whispered to each other.

Occasionally Ron saw rooms that didn't contain conferring witches and wizards.  One in particular caught Ron's eye as it seemed to be full of refugees.  People in torn, dirty clothing sat listlessly together.  Some of the women held children in their arms.  They stared straight ahead at nothing with sad, defeated expressions while two people, clearly a witch and wizard, moved among them.  The wizard, a black man with a friendly face, was distributing cups of water.  The witch was slender and breathtakingly pretty; she had brown skin and darker eyes, and her long, black hair was plaited down her back.

The witch and wizard looked up as Ron and his guard passed by.  Both their faces instantly froze in masks of utter amazement.  Now that he had seen Neville, Ron understood what it meant when people looked familiar to him.  They were his friends, now grown up.

"Ron?" the witch whispered, seeming to have forgotten the child she was bandaging.

"It can't be," said the wizard.

Snape had moved Ron past the room so that he had to look back over his shoulder at them.  "Parvati?" he said, sounding just as stunned as they looked.  "Dean?"

"Ron!" Dean shouted, starting to follow.

"Keep your distance!" Snape snarled, turning to face Dean and Parvati.  "He could be an impostor."

Parvati had pressed both hands to her mouth.  Her eyes were brimming with tears.  "No," she said, her voice muffled behind her hands.  "It _is_ him –"

"Stop," Snape commanded, and Ron obeyed, turning to watch him.  "You may both wish to throw caution to the winds, just like Longbottom," said Snape in his most dangerous tone, "but I will not believe that this is Weasley on sight alone!  If you wish to come with us then you will do so _silently_.  Is that clear?"

Dean and Parvati merely looked at Snape, not bothering to answer.

"Good," Snape said dryly, taking their silence for acquiescence.  "Continue, Longbottom."  They started forward again and Dean and Parvati followed but not before Parvati had quickly found someone to watch over her charges.

In no time at all Ron had generated quite a following of people in the hallway.  More and more people seemed to recognize him as he went on; he heard whispers as he passed open doorways and crisscrossing corridors.  His name was repeated over and over, spreading like wildfire until it seemed that the people in front of them knew he was coming.  Other witches and wizards fell in behind Dean and Parvati, a few of whom Ron thought he recognized.  That woman with the long braids looked like Angelina.  The two men that looked like short, blonde twins might be the Creevey brothers.  Another redheaded woman off to the side looked like Susan Bones of Hufflepuff.  And was that Cho Chang back in the rear with the long, shining black hair that rippled like water in the lamplight?

When they finally stopped at a heavy, oaken door, the murmurs and whispers behind Snape had grown to a loud buzz of anticipation.  Snape rounded on them all and snapped at them to be silent before directing Neville to open the door.

Ron's heart fluttered wildly in his chest and his breath seemed to be coming short.  Neville pushed the door and it swung open with a loud creak.

"Inside," Snape said curtly.

Ron stepped into the room.  It was brightly lit by pinpoints of light that hovered near the ceiling, so small and bright that they looked almost like tiny stars come down to earth.  The people inside were standing around a long table, pointing at a huge map that lay stretched upon its length.  They were speaking animatedly as Neville walked through the door but upon seeing who he brought with them their chatter was cut off as if by a knife.  They stared at Ron while his entourage, now numbering in the dozens, poured through the door behind him, crowding in as closely as they could.

Some of the people around the table Ron knew.  Tiny Professor Flitwick stood upon a chair, now looking even more white-haired than ever.  Remus Lupin's hair was now completely gray; his arms looked more muscular than Ron remembered.  Professor Sprout, short and squat, goggled at Ron from one side.  Nymphadora Tonks stood out with her petite frame and bright pink locks.  And there in the back stood three people with red hair exactly the same shade as Ron's.

Bill looked almost the same as Ron remembered – tall and handsome with a long ponytail and a dragon fang earring in one ear.  The only difference was the appearance of tiny lines around his eyes.  Ginny was lovely, a woman in full bloom, and Ron knew her face well though the rest of her had changed from the fifteen-year-old girl he had last seen.  Mr. Weasley's head was now mostly gray.  The lines around his eyes and mouth were pronounced, but he looked to be just as much in shape as Bill.

The three Weasleys looked at their lost brother and son with white faces and fearful eyes.  The room was absolutely still; one could have heard a pin drop as everyone stood frozen in shock.  Suddenly Ginny made an odd gasping noise and crumpled to the floor, knocking over a glass pitcher as she fell.  It shattered on the wooden floor and the spell was broken.  Everyone at the table snapped out of their reveries and hurried to help Ginny.  Everyone, that was, save one person.

The adult Harry Potter remained standing where he was while his fellows bent down toward the floor.  Time had washed away the last vestige of childish looks and left a rather handsome man behind though his hair was as black and untidy as always.  The lightning bolt scar had not faded with the last decade.  Green eyes bored into Ron's own with an unnerving intensity.  Ron knew that Harry must be surprised to see him – everyone else was – but there was a definite lack of emotion on Harry's face as he stared.  Ron sensed that same aura of toughness that he had felt around Snape, but it was stronger here.  Harry seemed as hard as stone.

"Is Ginny all right?" Harry suddenly asked, never taking his eyes off Ron.

"She's coming around," said Bill, who was fanning his sister with a bit of paper.

Ginny groaned a bit and her eyes fluttered open.  Bill and Mr. Weasley carefully helped her to sit up while Tonks proffered a glass of water.  Ginny, however, had caught sight of Ron again and burst into passionate tears.  She clutched at her father while he smoothed her hair and whispered in her ear, trying to soothe her.

"How has this happened?" Harry said quietly.

"I found him on Warwick," said Neville.  "He was watching a group of Legion soldiers pass by.  He looked as if he had never seen their like before."

"And you knew him?" asked Harry.

"No," said Neville.  "I threatened his life until he claimed to be Ron; after that he had to convince me that he was no fake."

"I take it that he did," said Harry, and Neville nodded.

"I am not so easily convinced," said Snape in his sneering voice.

"We'll get to that," said Harry, and to Ron's amazement, Snape closed his mouth.

Harry crossed his arms.  "You disappeared from your house almost ten years ago," he said to Ron.  "Can you tell us what has happened to you since then?"

Ron swallowed before answering.  His mouth felt very dry.  "I ran into the Death Eater," he said.  "I felt some stuff hit my face.  We fell but I didn't hit the ground right away.  Everything got blurry and there was a wind.  The Death Eater vanished and a few seconds later it was over.  I… I was lying next to a house that had burned down.  I didn't know it was my house until I found the clock inside."  Ginny gave another audible sob.

"What clock?" said Harry.

"Th-the one that has all our names on it and shows where we are," Ron said haltingly, wondering how he was doing.  "It had stopped."

Harry nodded.  "Then what did you do?"

"I figured I'd come to London," said Ron.  "Some of my brothers… lived here."

"How did you get here?" said Harry with a frown.

"I flew," said Ron, and the low buzz of voices filled the room.

"On a broomstick?" said Harry.

"Yes," said Ron, looking around nervously.  "On mine.  It was in the cellar with the other ones."  The buzz grew louder.  The people behind Ron were definitely excited by this news.

"The cellar wasn't destroyed with the rest of the house?" said Harry.

"It's not attached to the house," Bill volunteered.  "The door is hidden and you need a password."

"Have you got his broom, Neville?" asked Harry.

"Right here," said Neville, thrusting it forward.

"Excellent," said Harry.  "We'll need to send someone to retrieve the others."  He nodded to Ron.  "Please continue."

"Well, there's nothing much after that," said Ron.  "I got here and saw that everything was ruined.  I didn't know what I was going to do next.  That's when I saw the three wizards and some people all chained together, and after they were gone Neville grabbed me from behind."

There was a pause.  Harry seemed to be thinking.  "Do you know how you got here?" he finally asked.

"Well, I didn't really understand until Neville told me that ten years had passed and I was supposed to be dead," said Ron.  "When I realized I'd come forward in time I figured that the thing the Death Eater was wearing was a time-turner.  Everything got screwed up when it broke."

"This is all public knowledge," Snape said coldly.  "Everyone knows how Weasley was lost; the Tyrant could easily have fed him this information."

Harry glanced from Ron to Snape and back again.  "The Death Eater was Darius Montague, apparently on a mission to prove himself to Voldemort by killing me."  Ron shivered as Harry said the name, and most of the others in the room did the same.  "He was indeed wearing a time-turner.  He flickered in and out of sight as you fell.  We seized Montague and pulled him out of the time warp but you had disappeared permanently.  Why he had the time-turner in the first place we never learned; he died shortly after, apparently of the shock of whatever he experienced."  Harry paused for a moment while he looked Ron up and down.  "You certainly look like Ron," he said.  "You sound like him and your story makes sense.  But Severus is right; we must be certain that it is indeed you.  The Legions have gotten very clever in the past few months."

"Ask me anything," Ron said thickly, feeling shocked anew by Harry's use of Snape's first name.  "Whoever these Legions and Tyrants are, they couldn't possibly stuff an imposter's head with everything I know."

Harry smiled a ghost of a smile.  "Severus?"

"What mark did I give you on your first attempt at the Essence of Courage during your O.W.L. year?" Snape said shortly.

Ron felt his face flush bright red.  Trust Snape to come up with a question that had an embarrassing answer.  "Dreadful," said Ron, and a few people behind him laughed softly.  "You said it would take a miracle for me to scrape even an Acceptable if I continued to throw any old thing into my cauldron without regard for the instructions."

A few more people laughed and Snape's eyes narrowed.  "True," he said.

"What did your mother and I give you for your eleventh birthday?" Mr. Weasley said quietly.

Ron turned hopeful eyes upon his father.  "You took me to a Chudley Cannons match."  Mr. Weasley smiled joyfully.

"What did you say to me after my name came out of the Goblet of Fire?" Harry said suddenly.

The room grew quiet.  Ron thought he understood why Harry had asked this question; the bitter confrontation between them had been very personal and Ron had only ever discussed his feelings with Hermione.  Where was she, anyway?

"I accused you of being a glory hog," said Ron, feeling ashamed as he recalled the nasty things he'd said to Harry.  "I thought you had figured out a way to get your name in and you hadn't shared it with me because you didn't want any competition.  I barely spoke to you until after the first task.  After I saw the dragons I figured that someone really was trying to do you in."

There was a long pause while Harry stared at Ron.  Everyone in the room seemed to be holding their breath.  Clearly they were all waiting for Harry to pass judgment.

Harry's face finally broke into a real smile.  "We've missed you, Ron," he said, and everyone suddenly began cheering.  Bill strode away from the table and enveloped Ron in a crushing hug.  Mr. Weasley and a wobbly Ginny followed suit, all of them trying to hold onto Ron at the same time.  All three of them trembled violently; Ron could feel Bill's shoulders shaking as he sobbed into Ron's hair.

Ron's family did not seem to want to let go of him, and Ron was only too happy to let them remain as they were.  With them here he felt as if he had gained an anchor in an uncertain world.  They were different people now, but they were still his brother, sister and father.  No amount of time could alter those bonds.  All Ron wanted now to make his happiness complete was to know where his mother, the rest of his siblings and Hermione were.

When Bill, Ginny and Mr. Weasley finally let go of Ron, the room had emptied of everyone else but Harry who was sitting quietly in a nearby chair.  Mr. Weasley turned to Harry with a smile and beckoned him over.  Harry wrapped Ron up in another bone-crushing hug, holding on for several seconds before letting go.  "It's good to see you again," he said, his voice thick with emotion.  "You don't know just how good."

"I don't know about that," said Ron with a shaky laugh.  "I think maybe I do.  After the Burrow and London…"

"That must have been awful for you," Ginny said softly.

Ron nodded.  "I was so afraid," he admitted.  "I didn't know what was going on.  I fell asleep on top of one of Fred's old sweaters."

"We haven't been back there since the attack," said Bill, wiping his eyes.  "We just couldn't bring ourselves to it.  If anything survived, we left it."

Ron suddenly remembered the items in his pocket.  "I found something besides the cellar," he said brightly, feeling around for his mother's jewelry.  "I was looking for some Floo powder – the fireplace was still standing, you know – and I dug these up."  He pulled his hand from his pocket and opened it, revealing the brooch, earrings and broken strand of pearls.  "I expect Mum will be happy to see these."

"Grandma's pin," Ginny said softly.

Mr. Weasley reached out and took the brooch almost reverently.  "I never thought I'd see this again," he said softly.  "It was so precious to Molly."

Something in his father's voice sent a spike of anxiety into Ron's stomach.  "Where is Mum?" he said.  "And Fred and George and Charlie and Percy?"

"Fred is out on patrol just now," Harry said quietly, "and Percy… is still around."  Ron noticed that Harry's face darkened as he spoke of Percy.

There was a pause.  Ron looked between his family and Harry, waiting for the whereabouts of the others.  "And?" he prompted.

The Weasleys were staring at the floor.  Cold fear flooded through Ron.  "Where are they?" he asked again, although deep down he already knew the answer.  It was written in his family's faces.

"Your mother," said Harry, his voice strained, "and Charlie and George are gone, Ron."

Gone.  _Dead._  Ron felt instantly numb.  His heart seemed to have stopped beating; his lungs took in no air.  "No," he said stubbornly.

"I'm so sorry, Ron," Harry said, and he truly sounded it.

"No," Ron repeated.

"It's true, son," said Mr. Weasley softly.

"No!" Ron shouted, his voice breaking.  "It's not right!  It's not right!"  He felt his father's arms enfold him.  Somewhere to his right he could hear Ginny crying again.  Ron pounded his fist against his father's chest, which was much firmer than he remembered.  "It's not right!" he shouted over and over until sobs finally overtook him.

Ron cried and cried while his father murmured into his ear, carefully rocking him as if he were a very small child.  Ron felt no shame at this.  He felt nothing but sorrow beyond knowing and the _wrongness_ of the situation.  This world he was in shouldn't be; he wanted to go home.  He wanted to go back.

Ron did not notice when Harry got up and left, leaving the family alone with their grief.


	4. The Rise of the Tyrant

**A/N: **Here is the story of how the world fell apart. Hope you find it intriguing.

Reviewer: Don't worry, I wasn't hounding you to review the other story. I was just telling you that I had updated since you seemed to be looking forward to it.

kungzuone: Thanks! I'm really glad you're liking it.

krysalys73: Aww… did I really make you cry? Poor Ron. Butt-kiss all you want. I love it. Snerk. :-)

BekaJWP: Hooray for Ron stories! And yes, you do get some answers in this chapter. Now the question's going to be, what is Ron going to do about it?

J Black: Aww… more tears for poor Ron. Seriously – I can't imagine what it would be like to miss a decade and find out that half of your family was dead. It would be awful.

carebear11488: About Percy… read on and find out!

shedoc10: So did you actually keep on reading? Hope so! I sure think the story is swell, but then again, I'm biased. :-)

High Serpent King: Judging by your review – this chapter is for you!

Seraphim: Muscular Snape, indeed! I'm not a fan of Sexy Snapes (he's greasy and ill-tempered, for crying out loud!) but he's not the only one who's put on some muscle. Since these people now have to be ready for anything they can't be soft or slow, so that means they've got to be in better shape. In the last chapter when Ron hit his dad he noticed that the skin didn't "give" as much as it ought to. I suppose that means that we've got Sexy Arthur, too.

LovinsomeElrond: Thanks! This chapter ought to answer some of those questions. Hope you like it!

Chapter Four: The Rise of the Tyrant

Ron had no idea how long it took for him to cry himself out, but it felt like ages. The horrible truth was that he would never see his mother, Charlie, or George again. There would be no more hand-knitted sweaters, mince pies, or affectionate smothering from his mother; no more visits from Charlie, always looking cooler than cool with his dragonhide boots and multiple scars; no more pranks and laughter from George. The worst of it was that Ron hadn't gotten to say goodbye. His mother and brothers had perished thinking him dead. Ron could only hope that they had been happy for him rather than disappointed when they got to heaven and found him missing.

At long last the pangs of grief lost their razor-sharp edges. A lead weight seemed to be settling into the pit of Ron's stomach, but he no longer had the need or energy to keep on crying so. He unabashedly leaned his head against his father's shoulder as his tears dried up, sniffing constantly until a blotchy-eyed Ginny handed him a handkerchief. Ron noisily blew his nose a few times and scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. "How did they die?" he said hoarsely.

Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Ginny all looked at each other. "Answering that question will generate more questions," said Mr. Weasley. "We have our own story to tell you."

"Well – just tell me how," said Ron. "You don't have to give me details, I just… I want to know."

His father seemed quite unable to continue, so Bill bravely stepped into the gap. "Mum got sick. Charlie was captured and executed." Bill's voice trembled slightly. "That was about four years ago. And George died in a fight along with Hagrid; they saved Fred and Harry's lives. It's been less than two years since that."

"Mum's death was the easiest to bear because it wasn't so sudden," Ginny said softly. "She got to talk to us all before it was over and she was really very peaceful when the time came. She also didn't have to see Charlie and George killed."

"That alone might have finished her," Mr. Weasley murmured.

"People who die nowadays usually meet violent ends," said Bill. "Mum, thankfully, did not."

Ron nodded, seeing the silver lining that his siblings were so carefully pointing out. His mother had certainly had her share of bravery; she had been a Gryffindor and a member of the Order of the Phoenix before Ron disappeared. If she had been in Charlie's place she would have faced her own execution fearlessly, having the knowledge that the Order and her family were safe to buoy her up. But Ron knew that there was one thing she couldn't face – the loss of her husband and children. Harry had told him what she had seen when facing a boggart. Ron felt awful when he thought of how his mother must have wept for him.

"We searched for you for months," said Mr. Weasley as if he were reading his son's mind. "Even though we pulled Montague back, we hoped that maybe you might have only been transported somewhere. Perhaps Montague had had a portkey on him. Perhaps you were a prisoner of You-Know-Who. But no ransom note ever came, and nothing at all was heard from you. Eventually we had to face the fact that you had most probably perished just like Montague." He smiled down at Ron. "The last ten years have been very hard without you, but my heart is much lighter knowing that you are alive."

There was a soft knock on the heavy wooden door. "Come in," said Mr. Weasley.

Harry slipped into the room. He was carrying a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese. "All right, Ron?" he said.

Ron smiled wanly. "All right."

"I thought you might be hungry," said Harry. "It's not much, but I thought perhaps I should keep it simple."

The sight of the food set Ron's stomach to rumbling again. "Thanks," he said, taking the offering and setting to with a will.

"When are we going to explain everything to him?" asked Ginny.

"How many blows to the head do you think he can take in one day?" said Bill.

Ron glanced back and forth between the others. "What could be worse than learning that you've gone ten years forward in time and that three of your family members are dead?" he said, taking a bite of cheese.

Harry's mouth thinned. "You haven't heard the worst of it yet," he said.

Ron paused in mid-chew. "Tell me," he said after a moment.

The other adults looked at Harry. "In a minute," Harry said decisively. "Eat first, and then the five of us will go and see Hermione."

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, spraying a few crumbs in his haste. He blushed and swallowed before saying any more. "Where is she? Why hasn't she come?"

"Because she can't," said Bill.

"She was injured a few weeks ago," Ginny added.

"She barely escaped with her life," Harry concluded darkly. "I have ordered her to stick to bed rest though she does do some light paperwork to keep herself from going crazy. I went to see her just a few minutes ago and she'd already heard the rumors. I've taken the liberty of telling her your story so that you won't have to tell it again so soon. If you'd care to add more detail later that will be up to you."

"You ordered her?" said Ron as he polished off the last of the bread. It was astonishing how fast he had downed it.

"Didn't Neville tell you?" said Harry with a twisted smile. "I am the head of the Order of the Phoenix."

"Well, he said you were his leader, but I didn't know that meant... Where is Dumbledore?"

More significant glances passed between the adults. "We'll get to that," said Harry, and Ron's heart sank a little. Dumbledore was a rock upon whom they had all depended. If he was gone, then the times were dark indeed. His presence would have been a beacon of hope.

"Finished already?" said Harry, raising an eyebrow at the crumbs on Ron's shirt that were all that was left of the bread and cheese.

Ron shrugged. "You were right. I was hungry."

Everyone stood up. "We're coming too, of course," said Mr. Weasley.

Harry smiled. "I won't make any effort to separate you," he said. "Let's go; Hermione is probably climbing the walls by now."

They headed down the hallway, moving back the way that Ron had first come. People who saw him pass waved cheerfully and shouted greetings. It seemed that some of those who had followed Ron into the room he had just left had stuck around in the hope of seeing him again. Dean and Parvati were there, grinning from ear to ear. Ginny and Bill stuck close by Ron as they walked, pointing out people and telling him who they were. He had been right about the young blonde men being the Creevey brothers and about Angelina. A few members of the D.A. were also there, including Ernie Macmillan, Zacharias Smith, and Hannah Abbot, but there were also people that Ron had never expected to see. Marietta Edgecombe, Marcus Flint, and Blaise Zabini were people whose presence Ron thought could use some explaining. Well, perhaps not Marietta; at least she hadn't been a Slytherin.

The group turned off down a quiet side corridor. The lamps that lined the walls glowed with a soft, comforting light. "This is our 'hospital wing'," Harry explained. "Ah – here we are." He pushed the nearest door open and everyone stepped inside.

There was only one person among the white beds. Hermione stood up as Harry, Ron, and the other Weasleys entered. Like Ginny, she had grown and changed but was just as familiar as ever. She was not smiling; her lips quivered and her brown eyes watered with tears. She put both hands to her mouth and made quick gasping noises as she stared fixedly at Ron. "Oh, my," she said in a small voice. "Oh, my." She seemed to be trying not to burst out crying.

Watching Hermione attempt to master herself, Ron felt a huge lump forming in his own throat although he felt in no danger of crying any more himself. The realization that he had been greatly missed was finally sinking in. His family, his friends, Harry and Hermione, even his old teachers seemed overwhelmed by his reappearance. While Ron still desperately wished that none of this had ever happened, he couldn't help but feel warmed by the welcome he was receiving.

Hermione crossed the room and Ron suddenly found himself being hugged yet again. "I can't believe it," she murmured. "I just can't believe it. We thought you were dead – oh, Ron!" She gave him a particularly tight squeeze and Ron couldn't suppress a grunt. When she let go she was beaming like the sun although more than a few tears had escaped her. "You look just like I remember."

"You _mostly_ look like I remember," Ron said truthfully. Hermione burst into hiccupy laugher and Ron felt pleased that he had amused her. He didn't really like to see her cry, even if it was from pure happiness.

"How are you feeling, Hermione?" asked Harry.

"Perfectly fine," she said, wiping her eyes. "You _know_ that. Why won't you take me off the sick list?" The tone of her voice indicated that they had had this discussion more than once before.

"Soon," said Harry.

"That's what you said a few days ago," Hermione griped.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Look," he said, "you did almost die. It scared the living daylights out of me, so you'll forgive me if I selfishly want to keep you out of harm's way for just a little bit longer."

Hermione's face softened. "All right," she said. "I know what you mean. I felt the same way after you…" She trailed off, looking uncertainly at Ron. "Does he know?"

A spasm contorted Harry's face for a moment. Ron thought about what Bill had said – that Fred and Hagrid had died saving Harry's and George's lives. "They told me," he said. "You don't have to tiptoe around it." The weight in the pit of his stomach shifted. It was surreal, half of his family being gone, but that's the way it was; he would have to get used to the notion eventually.

"I'm very sorry, Ron," said Hermione.

Ron gave her a half-smile. "Thanks."

"How are you doing?" she asked gently.

"Better," said Ron. "After I saw the Burrow and what had happened to London I realized that _everyone _might be dead, so it wasn't completely unexpected, but…" He trailed off.

Hermione smiled weakly. "Yeah. I know what you mean. By the time Voldemort was finally defeated, we had lost too many friends. We didn't have a chance to mourn them until it was all over."

Ron barely heard the second sentence. "You-Know-Who was defeated?" he said numbly.

The others looked at each other. "At the end of our seventh year," said Harry. "Didn't you realize that?"

"London's destroyed, half my family is dead, the Order is in hiding…" stammered Ron. "I just assumed…"

"You've heard talk of the Legion and the Tyrant, haven't you?" said Bill. "You-Know-Who never called himself the Tyrant."

"Well, I did just miss the last ten years," Ron said defensively, "and it seems to me that a tyrant is exactly what You-Know-Who wanted to be!"

"You're right," Harry said apologetically, holding up a hand. "I'm sorry. We've all gotten used to the idea that Voldemort is gone; you haven't had that chance. Of course you would look at all this desolation and assume that it was his doing. The fact is that we've been dealing with a new… problem… for almost seven years."

"What problem?" said Ron.

"Perhaps I'd better start at the beginning," said Harry. "For you that will be the day you disappeared. For two months the Order's efforts were focused almost entirely upon finding you."

"Yes, we've told him about that," said Mr. Weasley.

Harry nodded. "No one wanted to give up on you, Ron, but in the end we had no choice. Voldemort was flexing his muscles and the Order had to focus on him. Attacks on villages were happening more frequently and we had a hard time knowing when and where they would happen. As for me, I went into advanced training. Dumbledore was trying to teach me the things he knew, including Legilimency and Occlumency, since I eventually would have to face Voldemort." Harry paused. "Do you remember how I told you at the birthday party that I had something to tell you on the train?"

Ron nodded.

"Suffice it to say that Dumbledore heard Professor Trelawney give a prophecy about me and Voldemort during her job interview," said Harry. "She predicted that I would be his alter-ego, the one with the power to defeat him, but that one of us would have to die for the other to triumph."

Ron listened with wide eyes. No wonder Harry had been so closed and withdrawn. Learning that on top of losing Sirius must have been dreadful. "That's the prophecy that was smashed in the Department of Mysteries?" he said.

"Exactly," said Harry. "And even though I didn't hear it, Dumbledore had his memory of the event in his pensieve. Anyway, now that I knew that I really had to face Voldemort, I had to get ready. It was all-consuming; Dumbledore became something like a private tutor to me. I barely attended regular lessons anymore."

"Didn't the other students notice?" asked Ron.

"It didn't matter," said Harry. "Shortly after you disappeared Voldemort went public with his desire to destroy me, so everyone understood why Dumbledore was teaching me even though they didn't know about the prophecy." He chuckled mirthlessly. "Now that I think back on it, I'm glad that I had something so important to do. It helped me keep my mind off of Sirius – and you."

"The last two years of school were dreadful," said Hermione. "The constant fighting was bad enough, but with you gone and Harry always with Dumbledore it got very lonely for me. The rest of the D.A. did try to fill the void" – Hermione gave Ginny a grateful smile that Ginny returned – "but the three of us had always been together. It just wasn't the same."

"Voldemort and his Death Eaters finally besieged Hogwarts in our seventh year," said Harry. "Everyone suspected that it was coming. What greater victory could Voldemort gain than defeating Dumbledore and the Boy Who Lived in their stronghold? Suddenly Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick had their hands full protecting the school. Heads of House are entrusted with that duty, you know."

"No, I didn't," said Ron.

"They all had to work together," Ginny put in. "Whatever they did, it was pretty powerful magic."

"But it left me without Dumbledore," said Harry. "He had wanted to be with me when it came time to fight Voldemort. When the D.A. found out what I was going to do, they insisted on coming along. Nothing I could say or do would keep them back. In the end I was reduced to begging that the underage members stay behind but it was all for naught. They protected me while I tried to reach Voldemort. Some of them did so with their lives. And I did reach him, thanks to them, and I defeated him."

"How?" said Ron.

"I've never told anyone," Harry said simply.

Ron gaped at him. "Why not? Didn't anyone see you?"

"Voldemort called up a fog that surrounded both him and Harry," said Hermione. "None of us saw what happened between them."

"And I don't like talking about it," Harry said flatly. "It doesn't matter that he was evil personified; I still had to commit murder to rid the world of him, but at least he's completely gone this time. He can't ever return."

Ron was flabbergasted by this attitude. He felt fairly sure that if _he_ had killed You-Know-Who he would want the whole world to know about it. Just like Harry had said, the man was evil on legs. Ron thought that ought to be enough to justify the killing in Harry's eyes; it certainly was enough for him. He wanted to press Harry on the subject, but Hermione caught his eye and gave her head a subtle shake. Ron resolved to get a moment with her later on. If Harry had given any details of You-Know-Who's destruction away, he would have given them to her and her alone.

Ron waited expectantly for the story to continue, but Harry was staring off into space, looking as if he had forgotten that anyone else was there. Hermione cleared her throat and picked up where he had left off. "Voldemort's Death Eaters delivered one last blow at the school once they saw that their master had been felled. The forces on our side did subdue them pretty quickly after that – Voldemort's downfall gave everyone new strength – but the damage was done. The wards on the school itself were severely damaged, and Dumbledore and the four Heads were badly injured. They had been maintaining and strengthening the wards when the Death Eaters struck."

"The school and the students inside were untouched," said Ginny, "but we paid a heavy price for it."

"Well, Snape, Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout are okay," said Ron.

"They are now, but they weren't then," said Hermione. "The three of them made it down a long road to recovery. Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, though… they weren't so fortunate."

"Dumbledore bore the brunt of the attack, and Professor McGonagall slightly less than him," said Bill. "Both have been senseless since the incident."

"We've placed spells around them to keep them from aging and naturally passing away," said Mr. Weasley, "but that policy has lately come under serious debate. Eight years of trying to bring them back have failed, and many people think they should be allowed to die – myself included. I have no hope that they can be restored." He glanced sideways at Harry whose jaw had acquired a decidedly stubborn set.

"Why was it so bad for them?" Ron asked softly.

"Because they were Headmaster and deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts," said Bill. "They had a larger part in the protection of the school than the other Heads."

"Getting back to the timeline…" said Harry, clearly eager to steer away from the subject of Dumbledore and McGonagall. "You're probably thinking that everything was peaceful after Voldemort's defeat, but that was hardly the case. Everything was chaos. People were burying their friends and family. Hogsmeade was entirely destroyed and Diagon Alley had been badly hit. There were hundreds of witches and wizards without homes because their villages were destroyed. Some of the Death Eaters were still on the loose and obsessive manhunts began. The Ministry was utterly swamped; Voldemort was unscrupulous in his attacks and plenty of Muggles had either died or seen magic being used. The magical economy was going south with businesses in shambles and prices skyrocketing. Hogwarts was severely weakened without its wards, and with Dumbledore gone our community was suddenly without a strong leader."

"What about Fudge?" said Ron.

Bill snorted. "He was never a strong leader. If he'd been at all adept You-Know-Who would have had him killed. No one really trusted him after he was finally forced to admit that Harry and Dumbledore had been telling the truth about You-Know-Who all along."

"He wasn't such a bad Minister when times were good," Mr. Weasley said fairly. "But when the going got tough…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Fudge wasn't really in charge any more," said Hermione. "The Ministry was falling apart. It had been badly infiltrated by Voldemort's spies and no one knew who was trustworthy and who was an enemy. There was also a power struggle going on between Fudge and a dozen other people who wanted his job."

"Who won?" Ron asked, scarcely daring to imagine how they would answer. It had to have been someone really awful for the world to have fallen apart the way it had. No one competent would have allowed it.

Everyone looked very uncomfortable for a moment; no one seemed to want to answer. Harry's face had gone dark, Hermione was watching Harry anxiously, and Mr. Weasley and Bill were looking sad and introspective. Finally Ginny answered Ron's query. "Percy," she said.

Ron's jaw dropped. "_Percy?_" he said in complete disbelief. "How? Did he stop being a complete and utter git?"

"No," Bill muttered through clenched teeth.

"He's much worse than a git," said Ginny.

Ron looked at the others' faces. There was obviously some very bad blood between the Order and Percy.

"Percy became Minister when some of the warring factions aligned behind him," said Harry in a very hard voice. "Our thinking is that they hoped he would be like Fudge – merely a figurehead that was easy to manipulate."

"Wait a minute," said Ron. "Wasn't there an election? Percy was always devoted to Fudge. People had to know that! Why didn't the Order put a candidate forward?"

"We did," said Mr. Weasley. "Kingsley Shacklebolt was our man."

"He was perfect," said Bill. "He was younger than Fudge but not too young to be considered inexperienced. He had distinguished himself during the war – become a hero, in fact. His reputation was spotless, and best of all, he was an Auror. People wanted a warrior after You-Know-Who and the whole Fudge debacle."

"He was very popular," said Harry, "and that's why some of those factions grouped together and picked their figurehead. It was either get together or face losing power."

"And they _were_ going to lose power," said Hermione, "so they rigged the election."

"They had to have done," said Harry. "It's the only way Percy could have won. He was nowhere near as dynamic or engaging as Kingsley and had little public support."

"What do you mean, 'they had to have done'?" said Ron. "Aren't you sure about what happened?"

"We are sure," said Harry. "Everyone was sure. If you'd been around when it had happened you would understand. The outrage people expressed when Percy was declared the winner… it was really something."

"The problem was that we couldn't prove any wrongdoing," said Hermione. "Percy's backers really did the thing properly so they wouldn't be caught."

"They bribed or blackmailed members of the Wizengamot," said Ginny. "That was the group that officially looked into the claims that the election was fixed."

"They covered their tracks – destroyed papers, avoided being seen with certain people, that sort of thing," said Bill.

"How could judges do such a thing?" Ron exclaimed angrily. "Take bribes and look the other way, I mean? Didn't they know that keeping the world from falling apart was more important than money?"

Mr. Weasley sighed. "Ron, what you have to remember is that no one's futures were secure anymore. Jobs were scarce. Prices for everything were sky-high. People were losing their homes. Only the people who had been wealthy before the fall of You-Know-Who could feel certain that they would be provided for. Suddenly money was everything."

"But they put their own comfort before the good of everyone else!" said Ron.

"They did," said Mr. Weasley, "and they disgraced themselves and their positions by doing so."

"Once Percy was elected things really started to disintegrate," said Harry. British magical folk were furious with the Ministry and everything associated with it. They had already lost too much to Voldemort, too much that couldn't be replaced, and feelings of betrayal led to violence."

"Two members of the Wizengamot were attacked in Diagon Alley by a mob," said Bill. "Percy had the perpetrators punished. Harshly."

Ron could scarcely believe what he was hearing. Wizards fighting wizards right in the middle of Diagon Alley?

"The ringleaders were tried and hung in the square in front of Flourish and Blotts," said Harry. "And this was just the beginning, because Percy had gotten a taste for power. We didn't know it until later, but Draco Malfoy and Dolores Umbridge had become his two chief advisors. They may seem like strange bedfellows, but you and I both know that Percy was vulnerable to flattery and those two can please whom they wish."

Ron was beginning to feel sick.

"The Order regrouped," Harry continued. "It had never disbanded, but more than half of the members were now dead and the loss of Dumbledore hit us all hard. He was the glue that held everything together, and he'd been doing it for so long that we were almost unable to function without him. Kingsley became our leader, and we were trying to oppose Percy, but we were in over our heads.

"Percy and his advisors decided that measures had to be taken to prevent mob violence in the future. He organized a sort of police force to sniff out the people who planned to incite such acts and gave that force a good deal of latitude. Arrests were made and charges were brought. When two more people were executed as traitors, the magical community finally began to take Percy seriously."

"And then Kingsley was arrested," said Hermione. "They had nothing on him; the police had to create evidence and invent conversations that never happened."

"But Percy must not have been in his right mind!" Ron interjected, unable to hold back any more. "He always was an ass, but he would never do anything like that! He liked rules and regulations, not killing!"

"Percy changed," Bill said tightly. "Power can be seductive, especially when you have the wrong people whispering in your ear, urging you to take it."

"But –" said Ron.

"He was practicing the Dark Arts by the time Kingsley was jailed!" said Bill in very harsh tones. "Malfoy was teaching him everything his father had known!"

Ron was silent. He felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

"Draco and Umbridge probably convinced Percy that it was the best way to get the populace under control," Hermione said gently. "You said it yourself – he liked rules and regulations, and he was already warped by Fudge's fanaticism. I think it really is possible that if he thought the end result was important enough, then any means of achieving it was justified."

"But the Dark Arts are still dark, no matter what you use them for," said Mr. Weasley. "They corrupt souls as surely as water and air will rust iron. Once Percy started down that path he just kept going."

Ron did not answer; he had nothing to say. As ill as it made him feel to think of Percy as a wielder of the Dark Arts and dupe to two of the most worthless people in the world, he thought he could see how it happened. Percy was ambitious and angry with his parents, so he rebelled by moving out and taking up a political position that they opposed. He followed the leader of that position with dauntless zeal and then, when offered the chance to be in charge himself, he took it. People poured honeyed words into his ear and he was only too happy to listen. Bit by bit they proposed courses of action that seemed a little shady, but once they had been taken the next path didn't seem so dark. He was led to water like a docile cow, and by the time he got there he had completely transformed without even realizing the extent of the change.

"The Order had been talking of an overthrow of the Ministry for some time," said Harry, "though none of us wanted to resort to such extreme measures. Voldemort had left the world in shambles; we wanted to preserve the government if at all possible. But when Kingsley was arrested it was confirmed that Malfoy and Umbridge had Percy's ear, and we knew that it was now or never.

"I was chosen as the leader of the Order in Kingsley's absence," Harry continued. "By now other groups had formed who opposed Percy's government, and I made overtures to them to form an alliance. They saw as clearly as we did that time was running out for all of us; if we didn't act we would all be living under an iron fist. It was agreed that we would attack three days before the date of Kingsley's execution. The plan was to storm the Ministry by force and stage a coup. Kingsley would be released, Madam Bones of the Wizengamot would be set up as a temporary Minister, and elections would be held again."

Harry paused, looking angry. The others' faces were sad and resigned. "I suppose it didn't work, then," Ron said softly.

"We were betrayed," said Harry, and the razor-sharp edge was back in his voice. "You remember Pansy Parkinson?"

"Pansy?" Ron said incredulously. "Who was mad enough to trust her with anything?"

"She must have been a good actress," said Hermione. "Everyone knew she'd been Malfoy's girlfriend."

"She was involved in one of these other groups – the Resistance, as they called themselves," said Harry. "Undoubtedly she was working as a spy, because she ran straight to Malfoy when she learned of the plan."

Ginny called Pansy a very rude name under her breath.

"We never had a chance to stage our coup," said Harry. "Percy hit the other groups hard. Their headquarters were burned, and most of the people inside did not escape. Anyone who did make it outside was killed on the spot. Kingsley was executed that very day, ahead of schedule. The only reason the Order survived was that Pansy did not know where our headquarters were."

"Percy did that?" Ron whispered. A tear slid down his father's cheek.

"He didn't soil his own hands," Harry said bitterly, "but he gave the orders. He admitted as much the next day, making a proclamation that called the dead traitors. He declared anyone who plotted against his government to be guilty of sedition and an outlaw. Not that we cared much; we might be treasonous but Percy had seized power illegally and was no better than the scum who served him."

"Percy's actions were enough to sufficiently cow the rest of the magical population," said Hermione. "His forces had grown to sizes much larger than the Order. We were overmatched, our allies were dead, and we had been branded as traitors. The Order was forced underground."

"How was London destroyed?" Ron asked timidly, afraid of what the answer would be. This story only got worse and worse as it went on.

"I'm coming to that," said Harry. "The short answer is that it happened when Percy went mad."

"He wasn't already?" said Ron darkly.

Harry and Mr. Weasley exchanged glances. "He was corrupted, certainly," said Mr. Weasley. "The young man I had raised was gone; a new personality had taken his place. But it was the death of his wife that pushed him over the edge and into insanity."

"Penelope," Ron said. Who else could it be? Percy had been wild about her.

"He married Miss Clearwater clandestinely during your fifth year," said Mr. Weasley. "I can only suppose that he kept it quiet because he didn't want his mother and me to know."

"After Malfoy and Umbridge became Percy's advisors, Penelope noticed a drastic change in him," said Ginny. "She felt uneasy and tried to convince him to rid himself of their influence, but he wouldn't listen. She found out that she was pregnant at about the same time that Percy started hanging people. By then he had changed so much that she was afraid for her child's future, so she left him and came to us."

"Percy suspected she'd gone to a rival faction," said Bill. "He was furious. His people were scouring the country looking for her."

"He didn't want to hurt her," said Ginny. "He just wanted her back, but she wouldn't go. She said she was afraid of him – of what he'd become – but she still loved him."

"She loved the man she used to know," Hermione corrected. "It would have been better for everyone if she'd been able to banish him from her heart for good."

"You can't know that, Hermione," said Mr. Weasley. "Even if she had lived Percy still might have gone mad. With Malfoy, Umbridge and the Dark Arts poisoning him it was probably just a matter of time."

"Percy kept writing to Penelope asking her to at least talk to him," Ginny explained. "She didn't really think she'd be able to make a difference, but she said she owed it one last try. She thought that if anyone could make him see reason, it was his wife."

"And so she went against our advice," said Harry. "The morning she left was the last time we saw her. The next thing we knew, warnings were coming from our spies in the Ministry that Penelope was dead and Percy was blaming us."

Ron gasped. "How did she die?"

"Umbridge killed her," Harry said gravely. "She used the Killing Curse, so it was mercifully quick, but then she and Malfoy brought her body to Percy and said that she'd been found like that in front of the Ministry. They claimed that the Order had killed her."

"And like the fool that he was he bought the story hook, line, and sinker," Bill said bitterly.

"He went crazy," said Harry. "He left the Ministry in a raging madness and set about ravaging everything in sight. His followers were only too happy to join him."

"Couldn't you do anything to stop him?" Ron whispered.

Harry laughed mirthlessly. "We tried – for about five minutes. Percy was a more than competent wizard, Ron. It wasn't just adherence to rules that made him a prefect and then Head Boy; it was magical prowess. He learned the Dark Arts very thoroughly, and his hate and wrath made it impossible to stand before him. As much as we loathed it, we fled and lived to fight another day."

"A good part of London was destroyed," said Hermione. "Some of the pillaging has happened since, but much of it was done on that day."

"Everything was even worse after that," said Bill. "Everyone was utterly terrified and Percy's police state was solidified. There were Muggle refugees everywhere; our worlds had been blended again. Percy's followers began rounding up the poor people and setting them to work."

"They were enslaved," Hermione said flatly.

"The Muggle government was scrambling to explain what was happening," said Harry. "A few direct attacks later and it had entirely crumbled. Muggles were attempting to flee the country in droves; they couldn't possibly expect to withstand repeated assaults by a force they could neither explain nor wield themselves."

"Percy's 'revolution' inspired similar uprisings in other countries on the Continent," said Mr. Weasley. "No one wanted to take in the British Muggles; they had their own problems keeping their countries together."

"Suddenly the magical world decided that it was time it put the Muggles under its thumb," Ginny said derisively. "It's disgusting how many people joined in."

"Why didn't they just come to you?" Ron said angrily, trying to make sense of the senseless things he was hearing.

"Who, the Muggles or the people who didn't vote for Percy?" Bill said coldly. "The Muggles were terrified and can't be held accountable. It's the wizarding world that failed. Ordinary witches and wizards were faced with a choice: oppose Percy and become hunted outlaws or take part in a new hierarchy. Most of them took the easy choice and sided with Percy by _not_ opposing him. They stood by and watched while his followers subjugated the Muggles. If they had been willing to band together then, we still could have stopped Percy even though we had been weakened by Pansy's betrayal."

"We fought back where we could – stopping the capture of Muggles, hiding them, aiding their escape," said Harry. "We've been nipping at Percy's flanks ever since." The stony look on his face told Ron that he was not happy at the Order's inability to make much of a difference.

Silence fell upon the small group. The weight in Ron's stomach seemed to have doubled in size. The British magical government was a sham and the country was in ruins. Wizard dictators were springing up all over the world. Muggles were slaves. The remains of his family were in hiding, and it was all because of one person – Percy. He had just heard the whole story and still Ron could hardly believe it. Percy was just about the last person on earth who he would have thought could become such a powerful Dark wizard.

"The Muggles started referring to Percy as the Tyrant," said Mr. Weasley, ending the quiet moment. "They call his followers the Legions. There are a few Muggles who have actually risen above their fellows to become foremen of sorts. They call themselves the Muggle Containment Force."

"It is no longer safe to roam the streets," Harry said gravely. "Only Muggles, their supervisors, and the Legions walk freely outdoors. Even the witches and wizards who didn't choose sides don't go about without great caution. They didn't ally with anyone and so they are not trusted either by Percy or by us. Most of them reside in villages that are ruled over by faithful members of the Legion, but they still live in considerably greater comfort than the enslaved Muggles – or us."

"What about the other races – the giants, the centaurs, the goblins…?" asked Ron.

"Those that weren't wiped out by Dolores Umbridge have gone into hiding, just like us," said Hermione. "She hated 'half-breeds', remember?"

"Hogwarts has been leveled," said Harry. "St. Mungo's and the old Ministry of Magic are gone, too. They were all remnants of the old way of life. The _new_ world of magical dominance is aptly symbolized by the Black Tower. The Legions built it and it is their fortress."

"I saw it," said Ron, remembering the spire he had seen before Neville had caught him. "From a distance!" he exclaimed when the others looked alarmed.

"We stay away from it," Harry said firmly, and Ron knew that he was being instructed to do the same. "Those of us who have ventured near it have only met death there."

Ron was about to ask how when the door suddenly opened and Remus Lupin stuck his head in. "There you are, Harry!" said the werewolf. "You are needed immediately."

"Is it –" said Harry.

"Yes," said Lupin.

Harry hurriedly got to his feet; so did Bill and Mr. Weasley. "I'm sorry, Ron," he said, "but I need to see to this."

"Dad?" said Ron, feeling worried by the urgency in Harry's voice.

"Nothing is wrong," Mr. Weasley said reassuringly. He put a hand on Ron's shoulder and squeezed it. "It's just something we've been waiting for. Stay with Ginny and Hermione; we'll see you again soon, and hopefully we'll have Fred with us next time."

"Okay," said Ron. He didn't want them to go but he had no say in the matter.

Harry, Bill, and Mr. Weasley ducked out of the room. Lupin put his head in one last time and smiled warmly at the three remaining occupants. "Welcome back, Ron," he said, and he shut the door behind him, leaving Ron alone with Ginny and Hermione.

----------

**A/N: **There are two reasons for my not explaining how Harry defeated Voldemort. First of all, I don't know exactly how he did it and I'm going to have to save that for my year 7 story. Second, it's not important as far as this story is concerned. Voldemort's gone and Harry won; it seems natural to me that he wouldn't want to talk about it much.

Oh, yes – click that "Review" button and tell me what you think!


	5. The Way It Is

**A/N:** Woo hoo! Another update! Nobody panic if the updates come slower for a while. Life has gotten somewhat busier.

Thorfinna: Thanks!

BekaJWP: Yeah... Percy. I'm not sure exactly how sexy Snape is going to get; I'm not a big Snape fan, myself, but in this world, you've got to be quick in order to stay alive.

krysalys73: Thank you so much! I'm really glad you like the characterization. You always write such thoughtful reviews.

Seraphim: Sorry for the delay. You're right – this really is a post-apocalyptic sort of story, although it didn't have anything to do with nuclear weapons.

Reviewer: Hope you're still reading after such a long wait!

High Serpent King: No, Ron isn't going to find out how Harry defeated Voldemort. I can't do that because I'm planning on writing my other stories all the way through year seven (Guardians to Dark Uprising to ???) and I wouldn't want to spoil anything for me or for anyone who's been reading more than just this story. And as to your other question... well, gee, I don't want to give anything away, but the story's summary (and this chapter) should pretty much make it clear that Ron is a major player here.

J Black: Wow! Top 5? Thank you very, very much! (No one's ever told me anything like that before.)

starsmiles: Hmm... I can see why you'd think so, but this Black Tower wasn't inspired by anything in LOTR. I'm really glad you're enjoying this!

JulezB: I hope you've had something else to read in the interim...

JKIJ: In response to your question about Marietta: Just because she sided with Fudge's Ministry doesn't mean she'd side with Percy's, too. My feeling is that a lot of people got scared when Percy showed the signs of becoming a tyrant. She could have been one of them. Marcus Flint and Blaise Zabini are there, too, and they certainly hated Harry. The idea is that a lot of people came together because they opposed Percy, regardless of their backgrounds or past enmities. Exactly what the last straw was for Marietta, Marcus, or Blaise is really immaterial. And as to the second question: Luna is still around, but she won't come in until a bit later. I'm still not sure exactly how long this story will be, but it won't be anywhere near as long as Guardians.

Skye0906: Don't sweat it. I sure don't review everything that I read; when I feel that I'm able to make insightful, useful, or supportive comments, I review. And yeah, you do make sense: Harry's hard because he's had a lot to bear on his shoulders, but also because he's lost so much.

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Chapter 5: The Way It Is

By the time Harry, Bill, and Mr. Weasley left it was very late. Ron was exhausted. In that day alone he had traveled more than a hundred miles, almost had his throat cut by Neville, learned of the deaths of half his family and found that Percy was a Dark wizard. Not all of his questions had been answered and he wanted to stay up talking with Hermione and Ginny, but his jaw-cracking yawns gave him away. The two women led him to a small room with two sets of bunk beds that Bill, Fred, and Ron's father shared. Ron collapsed on one of the bottom bunks and fell asleep almost instantly, barely noticing when Ginny carefully tucked a blanket under his chin.

When Ron awoke in the middle of the night he was so drowsy that it took him a minute to figure out what had roused him. An oil lamp, trimmed to give a very low light, was burning on a nightstand. Its small and steady flame illuminated a freckle-faced figure in a chair nearby.

Fred was watching Ron with an intense, almost disbelieving gaze, but he smiled when Ron blearily looked his way. "Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," Ron replied with a sleepy grin. Beyond Fred he could see two dark shapes in the other bunk beds. Bill and Mr. Weasley were asleep.

"Long time no see," Fred said teasingly. "Thought you'd strike out on your own, did you?"

Ron smiled. Fred hadn't changed so much. "Didn't want to," he said, unable to stop from yawning.

Fred's smile faded. "Yeah. We didn't want you to, either," he said.

Ron yawned again. "S-sorry," he managed. "Can't keep my eyes open."

"It's fine," said Fred. "I'll bother you tomorrow. I've got ten years of harassment to make up for, so you'd better sleep well."

"Okay," sighed Ron, snuggling back into his pillow.

The last thing Ron heard before slipping back into dreams was a whisper so feather-light it was barely audible. "Love you, little brother."

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Ron woke up the next morning to the sound of snores from the bunk above him. He sat up and stretched, feeling rumpled and uncomfortable after sleeping in his clothes. It seemed that the others had anticipated this, though, because someone had left a basin of water, a towel, and a bar of soap on the table along with a folded set of drab-colored clothes. Ron immediately set about washing, feeling grateful as two days' worth of dust and grime came away on the towel. He saved his red hair for last, dunking his head in the basin as best he could and scrubbing at it vigorously. As he toweled most of the wetness from his hair, he saw, to his disgust, that the water had become very brown.

After Ron had dressed in his new clothes he slipped out of the room, leaving a still-snoring Fred behind. No sooner had he shut the door than he saw Ginny and Hermione waiting for him in the hall. They beamed at him when he appeared.

"Morning," Ginny said brightly. She jumped up to give Ron a hug.

"Here," said Hermione, holding out a blue pottery bowl with a spoon protruding from it. "Breakfast."

Ron took the offering and peered inside. Oatmeal. Ron didn't especially care for oatmeal or porridge of any kind; it had a funny texture and made gloppy sounds when stirred. Just in time he stopped himself from asking if they had anything else. _Remember where you are!_ he thought violently. _Of course they don't have anything else!_ If last night's heartfelt welcome had been any indication, Hermione and Ginny were probably giving him the best that they had.

"I know you don't like oatmeal that much," said Hermione, "so I put some sugar and milk in it to dress it up a little." She smiled hopefully at him.

Ron silently thanked whatever power that had just stilled his tongue. "Looks great," he lied. He grasped the handle of the spoon, dug out a scoop of the brown and white goop, and resolutely stuck it in his mouth. With surprise he noted that it didn't taste as bland as he remembered.

"How is it?" said Hermione, peering anxiously into his face.

"It's not half bad," he said truthfully, though he made an effort to keep his voice cheerful. Hermione smiled, looking relieved.

"What would you say to eating breakfast outside?" said Ginny. "Harry ordered that the courtyard be set aside just for you this morning."

"The courtyard?" said Ron around another mouthful of oatmeal.

"Well, the building's been magically expanded, you know," said Hermione.

"No kidding," said Ron with a grin.

"Since there are so many people that hardly ever go out, we've got a space that's open to the sky," she continued. "People aren't meant to live cooped up in buildings for years at a time."

"Sounds okay to me," said Ron. Hermione and Ginny smiled at each other and immediately led him away down the main corridor. People waved and called out greetings as they passed. Ron saw some of the people who had followed him the night before. He was now quite sure that the woman with multiple braids was Angelina. One of the Creevey brothers waved so hard that Ron thought his arm was in danger of falling off. But whether Ron knew the people he passed or not, they were smiling one and all.

"Your reappearance has had quite an effect on everyone," Ginny said quietly.

"But I hardly know any of them!" said Ron in astonishment.

"It doesn't matter," said Hermione from his other side. "You're Harry's best friend come back from the dead. I've not seen everyone this cheerful in a long, long time – not since Voldemort was defeated." And then, in a voice so soft that Ron could barely hear her, she added, "_I_ haven't been this happy since..." Her whisper trailed off. Ron looked sideways at Hermione, wondering if she'd meant for him to notice. She caught him looking at her and turned a sunny smile upon him, but Ron wasn't fooled. There were tears shining in her eyes.

At long last, Ginny and Hermione came to a stop in front of a heavy wooden door. Ron was glad to see it; the constant greetings were actually beginning to wear on him. Fortunately, no one seemed about to follow them into the room that lay beyond.

Ron was unprepared for the Eden that spread before his eyes when Ginny pushed the door open. "Wow!" he said appreciatively. "This doesn't look anything like the rest of London." He had seen little plant life in the streets save for the occasional surviving tree or cluster of weeds springing up from the rubble. Here, though, were half a dozen trees with wide, spreading branches, soft, green grass, and flowers of every shape and color springing from earthen beds. White clouds drifted across the blue sky above, and birds chirped from hidden perches. It looked like the Order had gone to a great deal of trouble to make the space as verdant as possible. Ron had seen enough to know that it was surely the brightest spot in the colorless world in which he'd arrived.

"The Herbology enthusiasts have done the best that they can," said Ginny, closing the door behind her. "Nowadays this is the only way that any of us can see this sort of thing, so they've tried to gather as many compatible species of plants possible."

"It's really not that big," said Hermione, "and we've only got room for so many trees, so each one is a different kind. You can't Conjure a plant, you know, so everything we have has been collected from the outside."

"Eventually it became too much of a risk to go looking for more plants," said Ginny, "so Harry forbade it."

Ron shook his head. "It's weird," he said, "hearing you talk about Harry allowing this and Harry allowing that. And he calls Snape by his first name! He really is in charge, isn't he?"

Ginny smiled. "He really is," she said. She took a seat on a nearby patch of grass, and the others followed suit.

"I suppose it is surprising to you," said Hermione, "but Harry's behavior doesn't seem strange to any of us. Not anymore, anyway. We all watched him grow into the leader that he's become." She shook her head. "I can't think of anyone better to lead us than him. Only Dumbledore could have rivaled him."

"Harry gives people hope," Ginny elaborated. "That's why the Order pressured him to become the leader after Kingsley was killed."

"He didn't want to do it?" said Ron, surprised.

"No," said Hermione. "He didn't want the job at all, but Remus and Arthur appealed to his sense of duty. They said that people would flock to him like none other; after all, he had defeated Voldemort."

"You have to know _something_ about how Harry did that," said Ron. "I don't believe that he wouldn't tell even you."

"Believe it," said Hermione. "He hasn't breathed a word of it to me, and I've never pressured him to. If he thinks he's got bigger things to worry about than unburdening his soul… well, he's not wrong."

There was a pause. Ron pondered what Ginny and Hermione had said. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Harry being in charge wasn't really so odd. He'd done a great job with the D.A. even though he'd assumed the position of leader very reluctantly. People had always looked to him as a hero even though he'd hated it. Refusing to lead the Order sounded like something that Harry would say, and growing into the role sounded like something that Harry would do – whether he wanted to or not.

"So where are Dad and Bill?" said Ron, his thoughts turning back to his family. He took another bite of his oatmeal, which was starting to cool.

"They're both out on patrol," said Ginny. "Dad said to tell you that they were sorry, but they didn't feel that they should neglect their duty, not even for you."

"Patrolling is dangerous," Hermione explained. "One of the Legion's chief goals is to find us. If you get captured while on patrol, you know it's time to prepare yourself. No rescue is possible once you're inside the Black Tower."

"Then why do you patrol at all?" said Ron. "It doesn't sound like you can afford to lose many people."

"We can't," said Ginny, "but it's more important that we keep an eye on what's going on outside than that we all stay holed up inside. We haven't given up on victory, you know, and if we don't keep trying, then Percy will win. We won't let the Dark Arts triumph," she finished determinedly.

"We run reconnaissance missions on the Legions," said Hermione. "We collect messages from our spies, and sometimes we even manage to rescue some Muggles. Plus, going outside keeps people from getting cabin fever. It's not easy fighting a war this way, but we're doing the best that we can."

"Does everybody go on patrol?" asked Ron.

Ginny shook her head. "There are some people who are automatically excluded, and I'm one of them."

"Why?" said Ron. "Is it because you're a girl?"

"Hardly," said Ginny with a roll of her eyes. "Healers are in very short supply and I'm in training with one, so that means that I don't have to patrol. Underage witches and wizards aren't allowed and neither are Muggles. There are a few other people with special jobs that keep them at headquarters, but after that, Harry, Snape and Remus decide who can go. Snape trains anyone who's interested and decides whether or not they've got what it takes. Harry has the final say, of course, but he pretty much always takes Snape's advice when it comes to patrols."

"Harry listens to three people: Snape, Remus, and your father," Hermione said to Ron. "Remus is second in command and Arthur's third."

Ginny snorted. "Harry listens to _four _people," she said. "Hermione left herself out."

Hermione blushed. "I'm a bit farther down the totem pole when it comes to assuming command."

"It's got nothing to do with your place in the chain of succession, Hermione," said Ginny. "Harry listens to you because you always give good advice. There's no one in the Order who's smarter than you, not even Snape." Hermione looked down at the ground and blushed.

"If patrolling is so dangerous, why would anyone want to volunteer?" said Ron.

"I suppose it might sound odd to you, but being picked to go on patrol is a badge of honor," said Hermione. "Believe me, everyone wants to do their part to keep the Order strong, and there's no shortage of people who are willing to go outside." She lifted her chin proudly and her eyes flashed. "Harry didn't want to let me go, but Snape said I could do it. It wouldn't have been fair for Harry to keep me inside just because –" She suddenly cut off as if she had said too much.

"Because of me," Ron finished for her.

Hermione nodded. "Because of you," she affirmed. "Losing you was really hard on everyone but it was especially hard on Harry. Sometimes I think that Voldemort was the only thing that kept him going. You should have seen the way he threw himself into training with Dumbledore, Ron. He was like a machine."

"But he would have done that anyway," said Ron, "especially after hearing that prophecy. _I_ always knew he was born to be a hero even without a prophecy, but so did he. I know he did."

Ginny shook her head. "He would have done what he had to do, sure, but not the way he did it. He acted the way he did because of you, in large part."

"He completely withdrew from just about everyone," said Hermione. "I never once saw him cry and I've hardly seen him laugh since his sixteenth birthday. He turned very hard, and not even Dumbledore could convince him to open up."

"Come on. That can't be just because of me," said Ron in disbelief.

"Don't you realize how much you meant to Harry?" Hermione said incredulously. "If there were three people in the world that he really cared about they were you, me, and Sirius, and Sirius had just died."

"I don't think you understand just how important you were," said Ginny. "It wasn't just Harry that changed because of you. Your disappearance affected _everything_," said Ginny.

Ron laughed nervously. "What do you mean, everything?"

Hermione and Ginny were looking at him very seriously. Hermione began ticking off points on her fingers, and Ron was strongly reminded of all the times she'd lectured him back at Hogwarts on one topic or another. "First of all, the attack was big news. It was all over the _Daily Prophet_; the hunt for you was nationwide. And it wasn't just the Order that was looking for you; random witches and wizards showed up at the Ministry to volunteer as searchers."

"Then it turned out that the Time-Turner Montague had was stolen from the Ministry," said Ginny. "All of a sudden there were security crackdowns and molehunts everywhere. A few people were sacked from the Ministry because of lax security or suspicious behavior."

"More than a few parents decided not to let their children go back to Hogwarts the next year," said Hermione. "Your disappearance on the heels of Cedric Diggory's death made them realize that their kids could be caught in the crossfire."

"Your being dead – supposedly – was horrible for the family," said Ginny. "Mum was a wreck for the longest time. Her worst fears had finally come to pass."

Ron sat silently, stunned by these revelations. He knew that Hermione and Ginny weren't leading him on – they wouldn't lie about such important things. But it just didn't seem possible that so much had happened because of him! After all, Harry was the important one. He was the one upon whom the future was supposed to rest. Ron knew that his own power to affect the future was utterly inconsequential when measured next to Harry's. Or it should have been, at least.

"I overheard Charlie talking to Harry once," said Ginny. "Charlie was wondering when everything went so wrong, and Harry said that it was the day you disappeared."

Ron stared at his sister. Was that true?

There was a soft knock on the door behind them. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione turned to look as a rumpled-looking Fred stuck his head in. "Hey," he said with a smile. "D'you mind if –"

"Get in here, Fred," Hermione said pleasantly.

"So you finally decided to get out of bed, did you?" Ginny teased.

Fred sat down next to them on the grass, grinning. "Truth be told, I didn't sleep much last night," he said, giving Ron another intense look. It seemed that he still couldn't quite believe that Ron was really there. "So what are you all talking about?"

"We filled Ron in on the state of the world last night," said Hermione, "but we didn't quite cover everything. We're filling in some of the finer points just now. Harry said he'd come find us later; he had something else to do this morning."

Fred's smile vanished like dew evaporating in the sun. "So he knows about Percy, then?"

"He does," said Ginny, suddenly sounding cautious.

"Then I suppose you've told him everything he's done?" Fred prodded.

"Not quite," said Ginny. "Like Hermione said, we haven't quite gotten to everything yet."

"Well why don't you tell him," said Fred, his voice suddenly very harsh, "about Penelope, and Charlie, and how the Burrow was destroyed, and how Percy didn't give a damn when George died –"

"You don't know what he felt when he heard about that," Ginny retorted just as Ron exclaimed, "What about Charlie? What happened to the Burrow?"

"He always hated me and George," said Fred.

"No, he didn't!" snapped Ginny. "He's insane now! You can't be certain that he's wholly evil!"

"He is rotten to the core, Gin!" said Fred, his voice rising.

"He's not a lost cause!" Ginny shouted.

"Stop it!" Hermione barked, startling everyone. "Don't start again, Fred. No, I don't care," she said when Fred opened his mouth. "Ginny's fighting against Percy just as much as you are." Her tone softened a bit as she went on. "Don't do this in front of Ron. Please."

Ron looked uneasily between his siblings. That had certainly happened fast; it had only taken five seconds for them to start rowing with each other, and all Ginny had done was confirm that they had talked about Percy.

"Can't contain yourself for three seconds when Percy's name comes up…" Ginny muttered.

Fred opened his mouth, but Hermione forestalled him. "No," she said tensely, "we're not going to go through this again. Not… in... front… of... Ron."

"Well, I want to know what's going on," Ron said firmly. Hermione's head jerked up in surprise. Ron's face flushed; he hadn't meant to sound quite so forceful. He moderated his tone a bit. "What about Charlie? Bill said he was captured."

Hermione sighed. "He was. He got too close to the Black Tower. We never saw him again. The thing is, Charlie thought that if he could just get close enough to Percy he might be able to talk some sense into him."

"But… why would anyone want to try that after what happened to Penelope?" said Ron.

"Penelope never got to see Percy," said Ginny. "Umbridge killed her before she had the chance to talk to him. Charlie thought she might have succeeded if she'd only made it to her husband."

"Bill blamed himself for Charlie's death," said Fred, his voice still a little tight. "He thought he should have done more to talk Charlie out of trying to get to Percy."

"Bill needn't have felt guilty," said Hermione. "In those days, patrols got much closer to the Black Tower than they do now. There's absolutely no proof that Charlie was trying to find Percy when he was captured. In all likelihood, he was just doing his pre-assigned duties."

"Even so," said Fred, "Charlie never should have entertained the idea. He knew as well as I did what happened at the Burrow. We were both there."

"You mean… Percy…" Ron stammered.

"No," said Ginny, "Percy didn't personally attack the Burrow."

"He sent his goons to do his dirty work, didn't he?" said Fred.

"I'm not absolving him of the blame!" Ginny exclaimed.

Hermione glared between Fred and Ginny. "Draco Malfoy and some of the first members of the Legions attacked the Burrow," she said before the argument could resume.

"We never saw it coming," said Fred. "Dad, Bill, Charlie, and I barely made it out. They were blasting holes in the walls, the roof was collapsing, and the whole thing was on fire" – he snapped his fingers – "like _that_. That attack was meant to kill whoever was inside. Malfoy is Percy's lickspittle, so Percy must have ordered it. You'll forgive me if I don't think much of someone who tries to murder his own kin, destroys his childhood home, and then salts the earth for a half mile all around so that nothing will ever grow there again."

Ron stared at his brother. "Is that why everything was dead?"

"That and the fire, I suppose," said Fred. "I haven't been back since that day."

Silence fell. Fred was looking in any direction but Ginny's, who was ignoring her brother with equal determination. Ron felt anxious as he watched his two siblings. They were obviously divided over whether or not Percy had wholly given himself over to the Dark Arts. Ron thought that Ginny was being a little too optimistic, but her behavior didn't strike him as odd. Fred, on the other hand, was startling. Even though he had reason to hate Percy, it was unlike him to be so venomous. He and George had always been lighthearted with no trace of the bitterness that Fred obviously felt now. But Fred was without his twin, and Fred without George just didn't make any sense. Ron wondered if that had something to do with Fred's seemingly out of character behavior.

When Ginny spoke up again, it was almost as if she had been reading Ron's mind. "George, at least, died the way he wanted to. He always said that if he had to go, he wanted to go out in a blaze of glory."

"Bill said he saved Harry's life," said Ron.

"He did," said Hermione. "He and Hagrid both did. Harry took their loss very hard."

"Percy's no less guilty of that than he is of Charlie's death," Fred said tightly.

"I didn't say he wasn't guilty," said Ginny in a calm voice. "In fact, I agree with you that he's completely responsible for what happened. Fred, Hagrid, and Harry ran into a couple of Stranglers," she added, seeing Ron's puzzled look.

"A couple of _what_?" said Ron.

"The Muggles gave them their name," said Fred. "Stranglers are what resulted from the cross-breeding of Venomous Tentaculas and Devil's Snare."

Ron's mouth fell open. "Who was mad enough to cross those things together?"

"Someone in the Legion, we suppose," said Ginny, not looking at Fred. "It could have been Percy's idea as much as anyone else's."

"They're terrible," said Hermione in hoarse tones. "They're enormous, and they no longer fear daylight because they're hybrids. The vines move with a will of their own." The others were now looking sympathetically at her, but she didn't seem to notice. "They can reach a lot farther than you think they can. And when they wrap themselves around you..." She trailed off and stared into space.

Ron suddenly understood. Hermione had nearly been killed by one of these Stranglers.

"Their hides are really tough," Ginny said after a moment. "They're actually impervious to most spells. That's the reason that everyone on patrol carries knives. If you get up close and personal with a Strangler, a knife might be the only thing that can save you."

"They're planted all around the Black Tower," said Fred. "The Legions and the Muggles who get close are charmed somehow to keep them from being harmed. If any of _us_ get close..." He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air. Hermione shuddered and drew her knees up to her chest.

_Is that what saved Hermione – knifework?_ thought Ron. _Hermione shouldn't have to defend herself with a knife, not ever! She shouldn't have to worry about Venomous Tentaculas and Dark wizards. You-Know-Who is gone! The world should be safe again!_

"I don't belong here," Ron said aloud. And suddenly, something important occurred to him. He wondered why he hadn't thought of it before, but he supposed that his lack of clarity could be chalked up to the fifty or so mental shocks that he'd received the day before. "How am I going to get home?"

Ginny, Hermione, and Fred looked at one another. Their eyes darted back and forth, looking at each other, the blue sky above, the flowerbeds, anything but Ron.

Ron felt himself stiffen. _No, no, no...!_ It was just like last night when he'd asked where the rest of his family was. No one had looked at him then, either. "How do I get home?" he repeated in a hard voice.

Ginny closed her eyes and breathed in. "I don't think you can leave. Not until we win."

"What do you mean, not until we win?" Ron said, panicked. "Why do you want to keep me here?"

"That's not it, Ron," said Hermione. "We haven't got any Time-Turners."

"Most of them were destroyed in the battle in the Department of Mysteries," Ginny said gently. "Remember?"

Tendrils of icy dread were weaving their way into Ron's chest. He didn't remember the Time-Turners being smashed, of course; he hadn't been in the room at the time, and he'd been out of his mind from the curse that Jugson had hit him with, anyway. He did, however, remember being told about how the shelf full of Time-Turners had crashed to the floor and leapt back onto the wall, the hourglasses whole again, only to fall to the floor and spring back up again...

"People were busy surviving back then," said Fred. "No one really had the resources to devote themselves to making Time-Turners."

"If any still survive in Britain, then they're either in dusty old cellars where we'll never find them, or they're in the Black Tower," said Hermione.

Ron staggered beneath the weight of her words. What did she mean, if any still survived? Because that sounded like she thought they might not be able to find a Time-Turner, even if they had free reign of the Black Tower. And if they couldn't find one…

He'd be stuck there forever.

Ron's mouth felt as dry as sawdust. He had to swallow a few times in order to be able to speak again. "And you don't have… any idea… whether Percy's got a Time-Turner?" he finally managed.

"No," Hermione said quietly.

Ron laughed haltingly; he couldn't help himself. It was crazy. It was absolutely crazy. _Stuck there?_ He couldn't be. "Well, I guess we'd better defeat the Legions then, hadn't we?"

He was met with silence once again. Ron stopped his giddy chuckling and his smile slipped. The others were looking at him now, but he didn't like the pity that he saw in their faces. His heart felt like a frozen lump of lead. "You… you're going to win, aren't you?" One halfhearted laugh of disbelief escaped him. "Come on! You've got Harry!"

"We do," said Ginny, "but he can't fight all by himself. We don't have enough people. Every time someone dies, we get a little weaker."

"It's hard to fight a war when you have to stay in hiding," said Hermione.

"But it's the Stranglers that are really sealing our doom," said Fred. "The Legions are branching out, planting them around the city. They're hemming us in."

"We're losing the war, Ron," Hermione said, her voice almost tender. "It's happening very slowly, but we're losing."

"Maybe not."

Everyone quickly turned to see Harry standing in the open doorway, dressed in brown and gray. For some reason, he was covered in dust; it even dulled the black of his hair. But even though he was filthy, he was smiling broadly. "Come with me," he said, turning to go. "I've got something to show you."


	6. Blighted Yarrow

**A/N: **Author's notes will now follow chapters instead of preceding them, starting today.

Chapter Six: Blighted Yarrow

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Fred followed Harry out of the courtyard and back into the candlelit hallway. Harry was incredibly cheerful, enthusiastically returning the salutations of any and all who greeted him. Ron looked back the way they had come and saw that the onlookers were whispering excitedly among themselves.

"Harry's very influential," Hermione said softly to Ron. She looked at Harry as if to reassure herself that he couldn't hear her, but Ron thought she needn't have bothered. Harry was shouting something to Dean Thomas and was surely oblivious to his peers behind him. "He knows that his mood affects just about everyone else in the Order, so he tries hard to keep his spirits up, but it's not easy when he's got so many cares weighing on his mind. I'm glad to see him so happy. First you, and now whatever it is that he's found."

"You don't know what it is?" said Ron.

Hermione shook her head. "Well, I have some guesses, but I don't want to say anything in case I'm wrong. I wouldn't want to get your hopes up for nothing."

Harry suddenly stopped at a heavy door. "In here," he said, and pushed the door open.

Ron remembered the room from the night before, when he had first seen Harry and the surviving members of his family. The little pinpricks of light were still dancing just below the ceiling, illuminating three figures around the long table in the center of the room – his father, Bill, and Neville. All three of them were grinning broadly. Sitting upon the table were two objects: a large, lumpy something that was hidden from view beneath a large piece of rough fabric, and a scraggly-looking potted plant.

"We found it," said Harry, "when we went back to the Burrow to get your family's broomsticks, Ron. We've only just come from there."

"Found what?" said Fred.

"This!" said Neville, carefully taking hold of the pot and lifting it off the table.

Ron stared at the thing in the pot. "It's a weed," he said flatly. He knew that he was stating the obvious, but he couldn't help himself. This was what Harry was so excited about? It was a long, slender stalk with feathery leaves topped with a brownish cluster of drab little flowers. Or at least, Ron thought they were flowers, but he had never seen blossoms of that color before.

"It's not a weed," Neville declared, sounding highly affronted. "This is _Blighted Yarrow_." He looked triumphantly at the group.

Hermione, Fred, and Ginny gasped, clearly recognizing the name, but it meant nothing to Ron. "Blighted what?" he said, but no one seemed to have heard him. The others were all staring wide-eyed at the plant.

"Of course," Hermione whispered. "I should have known it straight away!"

"And… you think that…" Ginny stammered.

"We do," said Harry, beaming at her.

A slow smile spread across Fred's face. "You're joking."

"We wouldn't joke about something like this," Harry laughed.

"You are JOKING!" Fred shouted. His smile seemed to split his face in two.

"No," said Neville, who was starting to laugh.

Ginny was giggling haltingly. Hermione had pressed one hand to her mouth and seemed to be near tears. Fred raised both of his fists in the air and let out a war whoop. Bill joined in, throwing a congratulatory arm about Harry's shoulders.

Everyone was celebrating except for Ron. He didn't have the least idea why the plant was so important, and he felt strangely stupid as he watched his friends and family embrace each other, feeling like he should know more than he did.

Ron's confusion must have shown on his face, because Harry took one look at him and began making shushing motions. "Ron – I'm sorry. You've no idea what we're on about, do you?"

The others were trying to stifle their laughter with varying degrees of success. "Erm, no," said Ron, looking around at them.

"Didn't you study Blighted Yarrow in Potions?" Bill said incredulously.

"Not until seventh year," said Hermione. "Snape would never let any students but those in Advanced Potions work with it. It's too dangerous an ingredient."

Neville snorted a laugh. "Not a bad policy on his part. Can you imagine how petrified everyone would have been to know that I was fooling around with this stuff?"

Everyone laughed again.

"Seriously, though, Ron," said Harry, who was still smiling, "this plant is a crucial ingredient in some of the deadliest poisons that we have recipes for."

Ron frowned at the potted plant. There was only one reason he could think of for the Order to want such a thing. "You're going to make one of these poisons," he said. It wasn't a question.

"That's right," said Harry.

Ron looked up at his best friend with narrowed eyes. "And who are you planning to kill with it? Percy? Malfoy?"

The others' smiles vanished. "No," Harry said, now sounding very grim. "We are not planning to use it on any people. We're going to make Flesh-Eating Slug Repellant."

Ron blinked in surprise. "Flesh-Eating… Why?"

"It's for the Stranglers," Mr. Weasley said softly. "It works on more than just slugs."

Something wasn't right about that. Memories of Hagrid working in his garden drifted back to Ron, and he shook his head. "But it doesn't work on _plants_. I've seen Hagrid use it in the pumpkin patch, and it never hurt them, not the leaves or the vines or the pumpkins or anything!"

"That's not entirely true," said Bill. "The skin of most plants is impervious to the poison in Flesh-Eating Slug Repellant, but if the skin is punctured, then the plant _will_ be harmed."

"But slugs eat holes in leaves," said Ron, remembering his mother's struggle to keep the pests off of her zucchini in the garden at the Burrow. "So wouldn't they be destroyed by the slug repellant?"

"Yes, they would," said Neville, "but it doesn't usually hurt a plant much to lose a couple of its leaves. Hagrid probably thought it a small price to pay to get rid of the slugs. But he would have been very careful to check the pumpkin vines before using the slug repellant, because he wouldn't want to harm those. From there the poison could spread through the entire plant – roots, leaves, gourd, everything."

Comprehension dawned on Ron's face.

"You see where we're going with this now, I think," said Harry. "If we can get a Strangler in the stem, near to the ground, then it'll be eaten up from the inside. The whole thing will shrivel up and die." He smiled wickedly.

"I hope you've got a plan for getting past the Stranglers' thick hides," Fred said grimly. "If you need someone to coat his knife with this stuff and charge in, I'll be the first to volunteer, but I don't think I'll survive the encounter."

"We couldn't afford that, Fred," said Harry. "And we won't have to take the risk, either." He reached forward and pulled away the canvas, and the lumpy object beneath was revealed.

A crossbow.

"We'll dip the bolt heads in the slug repellant and shoot the Stranglers from a distance," said Harry. "The bolts will pierce their skin and poison them. When the Stranglers have become weakened enough, then we'll move in for the kill."

"Do you have more than one of those?" said Ron, eyeing the weapon uncertainly.

"We do," said Ginny. "Hagrid managed to make quite a few before he died. He spent most of his free time on it, as a matter of fact."

"Why?" Ron said incredulously.

"Preparation," said Mr. Weasley, "for what we're about to do."

"Even though you didn't have this plant?" said Ron.

"Poisoning the Stranglers was Neville's idea. How to do it was Hagrid's," said Harry.

"We both thought that Flesh-Eating Slug Repellant was the best choice," said Neville, "but another poison of sufficient strength would do in a pinch, and we were definitely in a pinch. Snape and I drew up a whole list of acceptable toxins, but we were lacking at least one ingredient for all of them. The most powerful poisons always contain unusual ingredients, and those are very hard to come by these days."

"Hagrid wanted to be ready the moment we had all the materials for a strong enough potion, whether it was the slug repellant or not," Hermione explained. "He thought that once we had a brew, nobody would be interested in waiting for a safe way of administering it. They'd just want to run up with their knives and start hacking at the Stranglers, and that wouldn't do. The slug repellant would work fast, but not that fast. Too many people would die."

"He would've been right, too," Fred said viciously. "I don't know about you guys, but I can't wait to take down those abominations."

"Neither can I," Harry confessed. "No one will want to wait, and I couldn't blame anyone for feeling that way, but that is exactly why the plan must not leave this room." He stared around at them all, Ron included, with a deadly serious expression on his face. "We are going to do this properly. This is going to take planning, practice, and precision, and if word gets out that we are developing a weapon, we'll have a near riot on our hands of people who are thirsting for revenge."

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "That will happen regardless of when you break the news."

"All the more reason to wait until Severus finishes the potion," said Harry. "I won't get everyone's hopes up when there's a chance that this can't be done. And the longer I wait to say anything, the less time everyone will have to sit around and stew."

"It's going to be hard enough for us," said Neville. "I've already been stewing for six years – ever since Hagrid first hatched the idea."

Ron's jaw dropped. "Six years? It took you _six years_ to find this one plant?"

"Didn't we mention that it's rare?" said Neville.

"We've had precious few opportunities to search for it," said Harry. "Leaving headquarters is always a dangerous business, no matter where you're going."

"I know – but six years?" said Ron, who felt unable to wrap his mind around it.

"Does anyone else think it's ironic that it wasn't found until Ron returned?" said Ginny. She shot Ron a dazzling smile.

Harry glanced at Bill and Mr. Weasley. "Well, we'd never have found the Blighted Yarrow if it hadn't been for Ron – and Percy, too."

"What do you mean?" said Ron.

"It's because of you that we went back to the Burrow – to get the broomsticks you mentioned," said Mr. Weasley. "None of us would have ever dreamed of returning. I don't think anyone here has thought of those broomsticks in years." He looked at each of his surviving children in turn, who shook their heads.

"And while we were there, we found the very thing we've spent all this time looking for," said Harry. "But it's only because of Percy that it was growing there at all."

"Blighted Yarrow is rare because it only grows under specific conditions," said Neville. "For example, the presence of slightly saline soil is required."

Ron gaped at Neville, remembering what Fred had said just a short time ago about why nothing grew at the Burrow anymore. "You mean… because Percy's followers salted the ground…"

Harry smiled wickedly. "They were growing between the dead zone and the grass, right on the border between damaged and healthy ground."

"His act of spite might just be his undoing," said Bill. He paused for a moment and added, "He deserves it." No one contradicted him, although Mr. Weasley looked saddened.

Harry drew a deep breath and released it. "We'll have to hit the Stranglers hard and fast," he said. "We'll use a coordinated attack to bring as many down at the same time as possible. We aren't going to want to give the Legions a chance to recover enough to protect them."

"And what will happen once the Stranglers are down?" Ginny said quietly.

Harry looked calmly back at the group. "Then we attack the Black Tower," he said. "There's no point in waiting. Once the Stranglers are gone we will be on equal footing with the Legions. If we retreat, they'll only come up with something new to replace the plants. Besides, our numbers are shrinking every year. If we continue to delay, there won't be enough witches and wizards left to overthrow Percy. Whether we win or lose, I think this will be our last chance."

"How long will it take for Snape to make the slug repellant?" said Fred, almost as if he hadn't heard Harry's last sentence.

"One day," said Mr. Weasley, "and he's already started. By this time tomorrow, it will be ready."

"So soon?" said Ginny.

Mr. Weasley smiled. "Just because one of the ingredients was hard to find doesn't mean that the potion is complicated."

"_We_ won't be ready by then," said Ginny.

"Certainly not," said Harry. "But we will be preparing. Arthur, I'm going to need your help in planning our attack. We've got to decide who will be on broomsticks, who will be on the ground, who goes together, and where to place everyone."

"We'll need a backup plan, too," said Bill, "in case something unexpected should occur."

"Which it almost certainly will," Hermione added. "We've all been in battles before; no plan ever comes off without a hitch."

Fred laughed bitterly. "They're usually only on track for about five minutes – if they last that long at all."

Harry nodded. "True. But this time, things will be different. We'll have the element of surprise on our side, and as long as we attack all the Stranglers that we possibly can at the same moment, we will have struck a mighty blow. And if we plan this well, then the fliers and infantry can move on to other Stranglers before the Legions even know what has happened. I intend to have this operation planned out to the millisecond."

Ron took one look at Harry's rock-hard expression and knew that he wasn't joking.

"Right," Harry continued. "I'm going to need all the Heads, save Snape, as he's otherwise occupied just now, as well as Tonks, Daedalus, and Remus. Bill, you and Arthur will stay as well, and you too, Hermione. Ginny, I need you to stick with Neville. He has a few tasks to see to and will need some help."

"Oi!" said Fred, sounding more than a little bit angry. "What about me?"

"You know perfectly well that you're not an advisor," Harry said, and Fred blushed. "But I do have an assignment for you." He smiled slightly.

Fred drew himself up proudly. "And what would that be?"

"I want you to take Ron out and show him the Black Tower."

Ron felt his jaw drop as a collective gasp rang out. "He's underage," said Mr. Weasley, sounding more than a bit panicky. "You can't send him out there." Ginny and Hermione chimed in with similar, frightened objections.

Harry did not look back at any of them. His eyes were measuring Ron as intently as they had the night before. Ron stared back, trying his best not to waver under that steely look. "He doesn't know what he's up against," said Harry. "He hasn't seen the Stranglers yet – or the Tower."

"What do you mean, what 'he's' up against?" Bill said harshly. "We're all in this fight together, and Ron's only just arrived."

"Ron returns to us after ten years and everything starts changing," Harry said softly. "No, I think that Ginny's on to something. He is more involved in this business than you're willing to admit, Bill."

"You _can't_." Determination had replaced some of the fear in Mr. Weasley's voice. "He's too young. It's too dangerous. I have great faith in all my children, of course, but to send him out there untested – even with someone as experienced as Fred –"

"We have a few more broomsticks now," Harry interrupted. "I propose that they fly, protected by both the Disillusionment Charm and Invisibility Cloaks."

"Cloaks don't grow on trees," Bill protested. "The patrollers need them."

"They can be spared," said Harry, finally looking away from Ron. "They can be spared," he repeated firmly when Bill opened his mouth again. "The north and west quadrants have been quiet these past few weeks. The patrollers can use the Disillusionment Charm and keep away from the heart of town. I will instruct Fred not to go anywhere near the Stranglers and to show Ron the Black Tower only from a distance. He should see what we are facing – but I don't intend to put him in unnecessary danger."

"He's much safer here," Mr. Weasley protested.

"How long will he be safe?" said Harry. "Yes, it's more secure within this building than without – but that won't always be so. We could be discovered at any moment. We would have been found long ago if it hadn't been for Luna. You know that."

"I do," said Mr. Weasley. Ron had to admire his father for remaining so calm beneath Harry's unsettling gaze.

"And that's why he should catch a glimpse of his enemies now," Harry continued. "I am optimistic about our plan. But if it should fail, then none of us will be safe here any more. Ron will be forced to flee into the streets without any idea of what is awaiting him. Not preparing for that possibility would be… negligent."

Mr. Weasley turned his eyes up on Ron and studied him for a moment before saying any more. "What do you want to do?" he asked.

Ron blinked in surprise at the question. They had all been talking about him without talking _to_ him, and he hadn't expected to be included now. "I think… I think I'd like to see the Stranglers," he said. "Harry's right. If I'm going to be stuck here, then I ought to know what's going on out there."

Mr. Weasley nodded as if he had expected Ron to say just that. "Fathers should be able to protect their children, but I can't kid myself into thinking that I can keep you safe now that you're here. You may go with Fred, who will take even more than his usual care on this assignment, I'm sure."

Fred drew himself up to his full height. "I'll take extra care, Dad. You have my word that we'll both come back safe and sound."

"Thank you, son," said Mr. Weasley, but he wasn't looking at Fred. He was still looking at Ron.

"Good. You should go as soon as you're ready," said Harry. "Not many people are going to know about our plans for a few days, so I may need you later, Fred."

Fred's proud posture became even stiffer, though Ron didn't see how that was possible. "Thank you," he said, sounding almost formal.

Ginny, Bill, and Hermione looked even less thrilled about the excursion than Mr. Weasley did. "Be careful, Ron," said Ginny, and she gave him an anxious peck on the cheek.

Hermione looked as if she wanted to do the same thing. "Yes – please be careful," she echoed fervently. Bill said nothing; he simply nodded to Fred and gave Ron a regretful glance.

"I will be," said Ron, although he knew it was a terribly inadequate statement.

"Right," said Fred. "We're off, then." And so saying, he ushered Ron out the door.

Fred immediately set off down the main corridor, and Ron followed. It seemed that Fred had no desire to speak. He walked quickly, his back ramrod-straight, while Ron hurried to keep up. Indeed, nothing at all was said until Fred came to a stop in front of another closed door. A young woman with long, dark hair was standing guard in front of it. "Back again?" she said, smiling warmly at Fred.

"I need two Cloaks and two broomsticks, please, Rose," said Fred without preamble.

Rose's eyebrows contracted slightly. She gave Ron a suspicious look. "Why do I get the feeling that the second set is for _him_?"

"It is for Ron, yes."

Rose crossed her arms. "He's underage."

"He is to be taken out and shown our botanical nemeses," said Fred. "Harry's orders."

Now looking uncertain, Rose's eyebrows climbed upwards. "Are you sure?"

"We've only just come from him," said Fred, who sounded a bit impatient.

Rose shuffled her feet. "Fred, do you swear that you're telling me the truth? Because I'm going to get into a lot of trouble if you're not."

"He's telling the truth," Ron found himself saying. "Send anyone you like to check with Harry or our dad."

Rose studied their faces for a moment before finally nodding. "All right. I suppose you'd like your usual broom, then?" she asked Fred.

"Yes, please. And the new Cleansweep Eleven, too. That one belonged to Ron."

Rose pulled a long, silver chain from the neck of her robes. An intricately carved silver key hung from it, and the chain was so long that Rose didn't have to take it off or even stoop to unlock the door. "Just a moment," she said, and ducked inside.

"What did you mean when you said that the Cleansweep _belonged_ to me?" Ron asked Fred as soon as the door had closed again.

"We don't have nearly as many broomsticks as we'd like," Fred explained, "so the ones that we _do_ have are considered property of the Order."

"But – surely not Harry's Firebolt –"

"Even the Firebolt," said Fred. "Although Harry usually rides that whenever he needs a broomstick. It's the fastest broom we've got, and if there's anyone who needs to be able to get away from a bad situation quickly, it's Harry. We can't afford to lose him."

Ron understood – it was obvious how much the Order depended on Harry for its survival – but he couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Harry to give up his broomstick for communal ownership. Ron didn't know if he'd have been able to do it, had the Firebolt been his. Then again, he hadn't lived through the last ten years. The daily struggle for survival probably made personal possessions seem less important.

The door suddenly opened again and Rose reappeared, toting two broomsticks and some silvery cloth that Ron recognized immediately as Invisibility Cloak material. She locked the door again with her silver key before handing the brooms over. "Your old brooms," she said. "And a Cloak for each of you." She smiled at Ron as she gave him his Cloak. "This one used to be Harry's, you know."

Ron looked up at the young woman in surprise. "Really?"

Rose nodded. "You were his best friend, after all; I remember. I thought it might make you feel a little bit safer."

Ron looked curiously at her, trying to remember who she'd been at Hogwarts. "I'm sorry… I don't… what's your surname?"

The young woman smiled. "Zeller."

Ron gaped at her. "Rose _Zeller_? The little Hufflepuff?"

Rose laughed. "I was little, then. I would have been twelve when you disappeared."

"Perhaps you two can get reacquainted some other time," Fred interrupted in a terse voice. "We should get moving."

"Right," said Ron, who was still staring at Rose in disbelief.

"Some other time," Rose agreed. She smiled kindly at Ron. "Welcome back. And be careful out there."

"We will be," Fred reassured her, and steered Ron back down the hall. As soon as they were out of earshot, Fred turned to Ron and teased, "Moonstruck, Ickle Ronniekins?"

"No," Ron said truthfully. Rose Zeller had been undeniably pretty, but she wasn't a patch on Hermione. Ron blinked. Where had that thought come from? Now was no time to be thinking about pretty women. "It's just that – well, she was just a kid when I – I don't know if I'm going to get used to seeing everyone all grown up like this."

Fred gave a brief laugh. "I can imagine – but we'll have time to philosophize later. Right now there are some things that I need to tell you. First of all, we're going to be doubly invisible, like Harry said. Of course, that means that we won't be able to see each other, and we need to stay close together, so I'm going to use the Leash to keep you within five yards of me at all times…"

Ron smiled at the mention of the "Leash". Their mother had used to charm her children to keep them within so many feet of her during Diagon Alley trips, since they had been a lot to keep on eye on while digging through cobra scales in a potions shop. None of the young Weasleys had appreciated it, and the charm was referred to by all of them as the Leash.

"… and we're going to have to do some talking, obviously, or I won't be able to explain what we're seeing. It's very important that you whisper at all times…"

Fred went on in this fashion until they reached the door to the street. There seemed to be an awful lot of rules, but Ron didn't say as much. The rules were probably what kept the patrollers alive from day to day.

Fred kept reiterating the fact that they were venturing out into a snake pit as if Ron weren't already aware of that fact. With each successive reminder, Ron felt more and more nervous. He gently stroked the velvety fabric of his Cloak with one thumb, and it helped to calm his nerves somewhat. Ron knew that he was being silly – a Cloak was a Cloak – but somehow, knowing that he was going to have something of Harry's with him almost made it seem as if Harry were coming along himself. It really had been thoughtful of Rose to let him use it, he thought. He would have to remember to thank her later.

At last, Fred seemed to have finished his lecture. "I have to Disillusion you." He suddenly rapped Ron on top of his head with his wand. Ron had never been Disillusioned before, but he had some idea of what to expect from what Harry had told him. It was just as Harry had said; it felt as if Fred had broken an egg on his head and its insides were sliding down over his skin. Ron raised his hands in front of his face when the chill had passed over them. They looked just like they were made of the same wood as the front door.

"This is brilliant!" Ron laughed, turning his hand this way and that to watch his skin change texture.

"I'm only sorry that I didn't know how to do this charm when I was at Hogwarts," said Fred with a wry little smile. "Only imagine the mayhem I could have caused if I'd been able to blend into the background."

Ron blinked at Fred's use of the word "I", but said nothing. Fred and George had often referred to themselves as "we", for they had been inseparable. Ron could only suppose that Fred was getting used to thinking of himself as a single entity. It was an uncomfortable thought.

Fred rapped both broomsticks and his own head with his wand, and within moments, they had all blended into the fading wallpaper behind them. Ron could barely see Fred's movement as he handed over one of the broomsticks.

"Put your Cloak on," Fred directed. "Snug it on tight; we don't want to take any chances."

Ron did as he was told. He looked at where Fred's outline had been and saw that it had vanished.

Finally, Fred cast their mother's old charm on himself and Ron and gave some final instructions. "Remember what I told you. Stay as close to me as you can. Touch my arm if you have something to say, and whisper when you say it."

Ron nodded, but then he remembered that Fred probably couldn't see it. "Right," he said aloud.

"You remember what I told you about following the streets, if anything should happen to me?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then let's go."

The front door swung open. When a soft _whoosh_ announced Fred's departure, Ron mounted his own broomstick and rearranged his Cloak to cover as much of his body as possible. Then he gently kicked off from the ground and soared out the open doorway. The door closed behind him with a soft click, and Fred's voice whispered from just next to him.

"Heading west down the street now."

Ron set off in the manner that Fred had dictated to him – flying low over the ground at an easy pace. His eyes darted this way and that, keeping watch for any movement whatsoever. According to Fred, nothing stirred in the streets except Order patrollers, Legions and their charges, and Stranglers, all of which were to be avoided.

Fortunately, Ron saw none of these things as he and Fred flew on, now and then taking a turn onto a new street. This part of the city was much like what he had already seen – broken and uninhabited. The sight held less terror for him than it had yesterday, but it was still a sobering sight. For him, everything had truly changed in the blink of an eye.

It didn't take Ron long to spot the Black Tower. Its dark spire stuck out above the rooftops like a sore thumb – a dangerous sore thumb. Yet even though Ron knew the spire for a beacon of warning, he thought there was something laughable about the way it so obviously stood out from every other building in the city. It was designed to draw the eye. Surely it had been built by someone with a huge ego – an ego the size of Surrey, at least. But it didn't look like the kind of thing that Percy would ever build, bigheaded as he'd always been. That cold, bleak ostentation was more… more _Malfoy's _style, really.

Suddenly, Ron heard a soft hiss from Fred on his left and felt a stretching sensation, as if there were a giant rubber band between himself and his brother and it was being pulled tight. The Leash was working; Fred had stopped and Ron had passed him. Silently Ron backed up until the stretchy feeling was gone.

Fred touched Ron's arm and whispered very softly, "Just ahead, fifty meters or so."

"A Strangler?" Ron breathed.

"Yes," Fred whispered back. "It's got to be a new one. It's not marked on our map at headquarters."

Ron peered up the street, but the only thing he saw at that distance was an upcoming intersection. "Are you sure? I don't see –"

"I'm sure," Fred replied. "I'm better at this than you are."

Ron's heart fluttered in his chest. Whether he was simply nervous or flat-out terrified, he couldn't tell. "What now?"

"We'll fly 'round that building over there and rise about twenty meters," said Fred, still speaking as softly as possible. His chameleon-like arm suddenly appeared from beneath his Invisibility Cloak to point at a jagged building a few blocks from the intersection. "That will put us far enough away to be safe from the thing. Follow me, and I'll tell you when to look."

Ron did as he was told and rose silently into the air, staying close to the cold stone walls of the nearest building. They weaved their way around destroyed houses, heading away from the street they had been on, until they reached the structure Fred had pointed at. When he noted that it stood taller than most of the others, Ron understood why Fred had picked it. Fred had said that, should anything happen to their Cloaks, they would blend in better against the streets and rubble than they would against the stark blue of the sky. A tall building allowed them to get some height for a good vantage point without compromising themselves.

The bond began to stretch again, and Ron followed his brother up the side of the wall. They stopped a short way below its jagged ending. A very soft scrape of flesh on stone told Ron that Fred was peeking around the corner. A moment later, Fred's breathy whisper sounded in his left ear.

"Take a look. Keep as much of your body behind the corner as possible. Don't make a sound."

Ron's palms were sweaty on the handle of his broomstick. As soon as he felt the breath of air that marked Fred moving out of the way, he drifted his broom into position, just at the edge of the wall. He inhaled and exhaled a few times, and then, very cautiously, poked just his head around the corner to look down the street.

His first thought was that a giant glob of seaweed had somehow transplanted itself from the ocean floor to the street corner. Long, greenish-gray tentacles undulated slowly in the air, some of them pointing toward the sky, others stretching out before it as if searching for something. Tough, brownish roots anchored it to the ground. The concrete all around was cracked and broken.

The Strangler's arms were moving languidly, almost as if it really was an underwater plant. Ron suspected that anyone who had never been in contact with Devil's Snare might think that it was rather benign – ugly, but benign. He knew better. That clump of vicious vines below the trapdoor at Hogwarts had been terribly strong. He'd been too embarrassed to admit it at the time, but only thing that had saved him was Hermione's quick thinking.

Ron was just about to duck back around the corner when he saw a small, dark shape dart out from between two vacant buildings. With a speed that shocked Ron to his toes, a cluster of vines shot toward the little creature. He heard a yowl and a crack like a whip, and the cat fled back the way it came. Tentacles smashed into the pavement where the cat had just been, causing chunks of broken pavement to flip into the air.

No sooner had the Strangler struck than Fred's hands dug into Ron and pulled him back around the corner. Ron was squashed up uncomfortably against the wall as Fred took a look at the Strangler, but he barely noticed. Was that how George had died? Had he been pulverized by a tentacle, or had he been crushed within its clutches? Ron shivered compulsively at the mental images that surfaced.

"What was that?" came Fred's voice in Ron's ear.

"A cat," said Ron, grateful for the distraction. He didn't want to think about George's fate, or Hagrid's, or the injuries that Hermione must have sustained during her own encounter with a Strangler. "I think it got away."

Fred let out a long breath. "Just about the only thing with quick enough reflexes to escape a Strangler, I reckon. So… what do you think now?"

"I think I'm getting the picture," Ron whispered. "It's so fast! And its arms are so long!"

"Ten meters, I'd say," Fred whispered back. "And that's a young one. Fully grown, they can get to at least fifteen. You can see why we need to be able to attack them from a distance."

Ron nodded mutely, not remembering that Fred couldn't see him.

"Right," Fred murmured. "Time to be moving on. We'll head down this street in the opposite direction from the Strangler."

Ron felt a slight stretching as Fred moved forward, and he quickly moved to follow. They flew only a short way before turning down a different street. With that turn, Ron could tell that they were moving directly toward the black steeple.

It seemed that only a very short minute had passed before Fred abruptly came to a halt again. This time, Ron could see the reason for himself. They had come to another intersection, and two Stranglers were clearly visible several meters in either direction of the cross street. He waited silently for Fred to make a decision.

"I know Harry intended for me to get a little bit closer to the Black Tower than this," Fred finally whispered, "but I don't want to risk it. These Stranglers are new to me, too."

"Is that normal?" Ron breathed. "To see so many new ones when you go on patrol, I mean?"

"No," Fred replied, and even in his whisper Ron could hear fear and uncertainty. "It's a good thing we've finally got a plan of action, because the Legions are getting aggressive. Like I told you earlier, they're trying to pen us in."

The strategy was obvious to Ron. The farther the Legions' boundaries extended, the less of London there was left to search for the Order's headquarters.

"Well, it doesn't matter much, anyway," Fred murmured. "I wouldn't have taken you much closer than this as it is. Too dangerous, what with all the Stranglers and human enemies about. If Harry were out here with you, he'd come to the same conclusion."

"But we're invisible," said Ron. "Doesn't that make it safer?"

"A little," said Fred, "but we think the Stranglers can sense us if we get too close, even if they can't see us. They're really nasty things; they'll attack anything that moves."

Ron frowned. "But you said that the Legions are charmed to keep them safe. Why can't the Order do that?" he whispered.

"It's Dark magic," Fred replied. "We can't use it."

Ron opened his mouth to question Fred further, but Fred suddenly hissed and backed up on his broomstick. Ron immediately saw why; a column of Percy's followers was marching up the street in their direction.

"Time to go," Fred whispered urgently. Ron swallowed his questions, turned his broomstick, and followed Fred back the way they had come.

---

**A/N:** My most profound apologies for the very long delay on the update. I feel like I've been working on this chapter forever. As I told one reader who emailed me to ask about the story's status, there have been many things that contributed to this. I started working on a new project at work, one that I did not especially enjoy, and it sucked my creativity dry. I find that unhappiness at work inevitably leads to stalled stories. I was tired every day and did not want to sit down in front of my computer after work at all. And then, when I did work on the chapter, it just didn't come easily. I've edited and rewritten chunks of this chapter many times. But the good news is, I'm now working on a different project at work which I am very excited about, and I'm wanting to write again. I am not abandoning this story (or Dark Uprising, for that matter).

Emaleneangel: I'm glad you find the story compelling, but I'm very sorry that it's made you so sad. I hope you conquered the spiders (and not the other way around). Welcome!

Seraphim: I think that, should Harry live past book 7, he could grow up to be a very competent leader.

krysalys73: Can I just say that your review was oddly… prophetic? :-) You were dead on!

High Serpent King: Thanks for the kick in the pants. I told you I was almost done. :-)

kungzuone: Merci! Glad you like it.

Reviewer: Ah, "Reviewer" strikes again. I am working on the other story, too!

starsmiles: Thanks! It's nice to see your name again.

Rawiya Prabhakar: Wow, thank you! Again, I'm sorry for the long wait. I hope you haven't vanished in the interim.

J Black: If the cliffhanger was going to kill you, I expect you're dead by now. Sorry. :-(

Snowy: Aw, thank you! I'm so glad you're hooked!

Belle84: Thank you! It's hard to know sometimes whether anyone else will find my writing interesting. It's interesting to _me_, but that doesn't tell me much. :-)

Spasmodic Dust Bunny: Hope it helped get the creative juices flowing, at least!


	7. The Fuse Alight

Chapter Seven: The Fuse Alight

Fred and Ron made it back to Order headquarters without incident. Upon returning to the council room, they saw that most of the people Harry had named earlier were present, poring over the same large map that was spread across the long table.

Everyone seemed relieved to see Fred and Ron reappear, safe and sound. Harry asked Ron if he had seen what he needed to see, and when Ron replied that he had, Harry nodded in satisfaction and turned back to the map.

Ron sensed that he and Fred had been subtly dismissed. Harry seemed tenser than he had when the two of them had left earlier, and he was clearly eager to get back to what he'd been doing before the interruption. Fred, however, was not about to leave without telling the others what he had seen in the city. "I have something else to report," he said loudly.

Everyone's attention was suddenly off the map and on Fred. Their faces were solemn and still, as if they knew that the news was going to be bad. "I hope it's not what I think it is," said Mr. Weasley.

"Three new Stranglers on the eastern route –"

Fred was interrupted by loud groans from many of the adults. "Merlin's Beard!"

"That's the third time in as many weeks –"

"– getting close to the line –"

The unhappy outbursts continued until Harry spoke up and cut them off. "It seems we've finally come to that crossroads we've been talking about. The Legions are planting very quickly now, and they're getting much too close to our position for safety, much less comfort."

The flurry of voices around the table came so quickly and loudly that Ron was taken aback. It was almost like watching a dam burst. Amid the din, Ron caught several variations on the same theme – that the Order had to fight. It seemed very much like everyone had already been readying themselves for this moment, when there was little choice left but to move forward.

"I take it you all think it's time to attack, then?" said Harry.

"I don't see any alternative," Tonks declared, and the others muttered in consensus. "We can't wait until there are Stranglers planted at our front door to make our move," she added, and several people shouted, "Yes!" in response.

"And if we don't take action now, we're going to be forced to keep on retreating until there's nowhere left to go," said Bill.

"Aye!" Daedalus Diggle said heartily, and his call was echoed by several more. Ron felt a thrill run through his veins at the sight of them all so passionately arguing to strike. Whether it was a thrill of excitement or fear, he couldn't tell. Next to him, Fred's eyes were shining with a hungry light.

"What do you say, Harry?" said a stately witch who Ron recognized as Emmeline Vance, one of the original members of the Order. "I think the rest of us are all in agreement, but it's you who has the final word."

Harry paused for a moment before saying, "I think that we should make our attack at the earliest possible –" But the rest of his sentence was inaudible as a loud cheer went up around the table. Fred was shaking his fist in the air in a great show of machismo, but Ron didn't doubt that he meant every bit of it.

"Are there any objections?" Harry said loudly, trying to make himself heard over the cacophony.

Everyone shook their heads or said, "No!"

"Excellent," said Harry. "Then I propose that we take four days to prepare, and then attack."

And everyone resumed talking at once.

"– need a backup plan for the Muggles –"

"– have to get supplies together –"

"– bring the others in –"

Professor Flitwick was gesticulating wildly, Daedalus Diggle was jabbing his finger at the map, and Tonks was speaking animatedly with Mad-Eye Moody. Harry was not joining in the noisy debate; he had his head cocked to one side in order to hear Hermione, who was speaking into his ear. Every now and then he would nod along.

Fred took advantage of the moment to explain things to Ron. He leaned close so that Ron could hear his voice above the noise. "There are certain paths that our scouts generally follow when they go out in the city. It makes it easier to search for them if they don't return. We always report any new Stranglers that we see, and they get marked on that map. That way, the scouts know what locations to avoid. But during the last four months or so, we've been seeing new ones much more frequently." He paused. "Time's been running out a little too fast. I don't know what we would have done if we hadn't found that Blighted Yarrow."

"All right, all right," said Harry, raising his hands to quiet the group. "Clearly, we've got some things to discuss. Synandra?"

"The Muggles," said Professor Sprout, "and the children, and anyone else who's not going to fight – we need to have someplace ready to send them should things not go our way. And they'll need supplies, and someone to lead them there, too."

"We'll deal with that," said Harry. "But I don't think we can guarantee anyone's safety if we lose."

"Can enough people learn to shoot in four days?" said Tonks. "It's not as easy as it looks."

"Ginny and Neville are working on that," said Hermione. "They've been practicing, and apparently they agree with you. They also say that Bill's idea of having bowmen on broomsticks is out of the question. It's too hard to aim and stay seated at the same time, and even if anyone could do that, they wouldn't have enough skill to be able to hit anything from a distance."

Bill shrugged. "It was worth a go."

"We all thought it was a good idea," said Harry with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It was definitely worth a go. Anything else?"

"I can only think of one more thing," said Mr. Weasley, "and that is the actual attack plan. It's far from being ready, and it won't be easy or quick to get it down as precisely as you want."

"But we have to do it," said Harry, "so we'll start now to have as much time as possible to get it right." He looked around at the group. "Last call."

The Order members stood silent.

"Very well," said Harry. "I've not heard any considerations that should keep us from attacking on the fifth day from now. Even so, any problem would have to be very serious for us to consider postponing. We truly are out of time."

No one voiced any further objections, and Harry began making assignments. One by one, Order members were tasked to gather supplies, learn to use the crossbows, work on the attack plan, find a haven for the Muggles they were sheltering…. The list of chores went on and on, and the adults unflinchingly accepted their duties. Ron didn't doubt that a single one of them wouldn't be putting forth their full effort. The very atmosphere seemed to have been infused with a sense of purpose and determination.

As Harry continued to dole out tasks, Ron began to wonder what he would be doing for the next few days. He doubted very much if he would be allowed to go along during the attack. The others' reactions when Harry had decreed that he would go to see the Stranglers told Ron what _they _would think of that. But whether he was going or not, he didn't want to be idle. Surely there was something that he could do to help, even if underage wizards weren't generally involved in the Order's stratagems.

Harry seemed to have addressed nearly everyone else in the room before he turned to Fred and Ron. "And I haven't forgotten about either of you," he said. "You won't need much training for this, Fred, except with the crossbow, and you haven't got the patience for planning. So I want you to spend more time with Ron tonight."

"You're not sending them out again!" exclaimed Mr. Weasley.

"No," said Harry, "but Ron needs some training, I think. In self-defense."

Mr. Weasley spoke, but he looked at Ron as he did so. "You mean weapons practice." It wasn't a question.

"Well, a little bit, yes," said Harry. "He ought to learn how to safely handle the knives, at least, but that won't take him four days to master. I'll have to think about how else we can keep him occupied. And before you ask, I'm not asking him to train for the attack, because he won't be coming with us. The problem is that we don't know how long he'll be here. That's why I want him to start practicing. We have no Time-Turners, after all."

Ron's gut clenched. For the past few hours he had been busy enough to forget about Hermione's and Ginny's revelation that he was very possibly stuck in the future.

Harry turned his eyes upon Ron. "I am sorry to have to tell you like this, but –"

"I already know," Ron interrupted in a flat voice.

"I see," said Harry. "Then you also know that our only hope of finding a Time-Turner is within the Black Tower."

Ron nodded.

"I don't intend to try and keep you with us in this time. As much as… we missed you, it wouldn't be right. You don't belong here."

_As much as _I _missed you,_ Ron thought. It seemed perfectly obvious to him that that was what Harry had been about to say. To his shame, the switch stung him. Harry was not the same person he'd been ten years ago – circumstances beyond his control had ensured that – but Ron couldn't help missing the old Harry. The Harry he'd known had been his best mate, and the bond between them had been strong, even if they'd seldom mentioned it.

As Ron watched his friend's impassive face from across the room, he sensed a void between them that had never been there before. But how could it not be there? In the blink of an eye, Harry had become an adult while Ron, who hadn't had the chance to grow up, change, or adjust, had stayed the same.

Ron suddenly felt that things could never be normal between himself and this Harry again. Even if he was forced to remain in the future and passed the years there, Harry would always be ten years older. He and Ron would always be at different places in life, without the same shared experiences to connect over. The unforgiving truth of that made Ron feel very lonely.

"We will do everything possible to get you back home," Harry continued, "but until we succeed, you need to be prepared. Your trip into the city was only the beginning."

"And what about when I'm not… preparing?" Ron asked.

"I'm not sure yet," said Harry. "I still have to decide how deeply you should be involved in this."

For a moment, Ron wasn't sure he had heard correctly, but one look at Harry's face told him that he had. Ron blinked at Harry, completely stunned. If Harry wasn't going to let him help, then why had he been allowed to stand there and listen while the Order made their plans?

Harry exchanged glances with Ron's father, who looked unhappy. "It's got nothing to do with you personally, Ron," he said. "But we have rules about underage witches and wizards, and we have them for a reason – to keep them alive."

Ron stared at Harry in disbelief. He already knew more about the upcoming offensive than most of the adults living beneath the Order's roof, and Harry had to know that he was trustworthy. They'd been in plenty of dangerous situations together before. More than that, the last thing he wanted was to sit around with nothing to do but stew while the Order's last stand drew closer and closer. Harry couldn't possibly expect him to be able to do that.

"I'll let you know what I decide," said Harry.

Ron opened his mouth to protest. "Don't," Fred said softly in his ear. "You'll only come off sounding like a child, and you still won't win." Ron closed his mouth again and compressed his lips, trying not to look too put out. Judging by the way the corners of his mouth seemed to insist on turning down, he doubted if he was succeeding.

The meeting was drawing to a close. A dinner of hot soup and bread was brought in, Harry gave out some final instructions for the evening, and the group began to fracture. Everyone who was to help with the attack plan crowded around the map table. The others availed themselves of their shares of the food and left to see to their own tasks.

Fred and Ron headed off down a hallway in search of an empty room to practice in. They said nothing as they walked, which was fine with Ron as it required all of his attention to keep his soup from sloshing out of his bowl. They soon found what they were looking for – a long, plain room with only a rickety table and chairs inside. The two brothers said little as they sat and ate. Every now and then Fred shot Ron a concerned glance, but Ron always looked away. He was still feeling stunned by Harry's revelation that he might not leave him in on the planning, and he didn't really want to talk about it.

When the food was gone, Fred pulled one of the four knives from his belt and showed Ron how to hold it. Fred put the knife into Ron's hand and tugged his fingers into a proper grip while Ron watched. The steel protruding from his fist was sharp and cold, and Ron didn't like the way he felt when he looked at it. He felt afraid of the weight in his hand, and he doubted that he would ever have the confidence that Fred seemed to have around such a cruel weapon.

"You'll get used to it after awhile," said Fred, reading the unhappy look on Ron's face. "I didn't like it at first, either. I couldn't really believe that I had to learn to use something like this, but these work against Stranglers when wands don't."

Fred conjured up a long, thick arm of smoke that waved around in the air. He instructed Ron to swipe at it whenever it came near, just to get a feel for using the knife. Ron did as Fred asked, but he felt awkward and nervous. "Am I doing this right?" he grunted as he jabbed at the smoky arm that whipped over his head.

"You'll want to slash more than poke," said Fred, and moved his arm to demonstrate. "It'll inflict a lot more damage on the Strangler, and you'll also be more likely to hit it."

Ron attempted a slash. "Like this?"

"Better," said Fred. "That's good, putting your arm into it. You don't need any force to cut through vapor, but a Strangler's skin is another story."

Ron kept at it, and Fred seemed pleased with his progress. "You're already looking much better," he said after nearly an hour had passed. Ron had to admit that he did feel surer of himself, although he was still wary of the weapon in his hand, and he felt better able to react to the various motions of the pseudo-Strangler.

When Fred was satisfied that Ron was no longer clueless, he let the smoke dissipate. "That's good enough for now," he said. "I'll have you do some more later on, but I thought you might want to try something else." He pulled his wand from his pocket and used it to draw a series of shining, concentric circles on the far wall. "Want to learn to throw?" he said with a cocky grin.

"This?" said Ron, staring down at the knife in his hand.

"Yeah," said Fred. "No one throws at the Stranglers, of course – they move around too much, and we don't really have spare weapons to lose. It's kind of fun, though. I'm one of the best shots in the Order. Better than Bill and Ginny, anyway." He pulled a knife from his belt and threw it at the target so suddenly that Ron was caught off guard. He jumped when it stuck in the drywall with a solid _thunk._

"Bullseye." Fred smiled in satisfaction. "Not bad for such a quick draw, and I'm a little out of practice, too. So what d'you say? It'd help to pass the time, anyway."

Ron figured that any extra practice with the knife would be good practice, even if it wasn't in a way that he would use outside. "Okay."

Fred only allowed Ron to use the one blade ("It's got the best balance," he said), and he carefully Summoned it back for Ron every time it clattered to the floor. It took him several tries, but with some help from Fred, Ron finally managed to get the knife to hit the wall and stick there.

"Good!" said Fred. "You probably won't miss the wall much anymore, but that's not the hard part anyway. The hard part is being able to hit the mark you're aiming at. It takes time and practice to get much skill at using these things, whether you're throwing them or not. Your grip's not quite right there." Ron proffered his hand. "Not that anyone thinks about their grip while a tentacle is bearing down on them," Fred allowed as he rearranged Ron's fingers. "All you can think about is simply getting your limbs moving and your hand around that hilt. And the first-timers always freeze. That's better now; try again."

Ron raised his arm like Fred had showed him and threw. The blade stuck in the wall again, still well below the shining target.

"Much better," said Fred, and he raised his wand to Summon the knife.

"Then how do they ever live to see their second time?" Ron asked.

The handle of the knife flew into Fred's palm. "The new kids?"

"Yes."

"Well, we don't send them out alone. The greenest patrollers always go with a more experienced person, preferably one who's been up close and personal with a Strangler before. They can keep their heads much better than most."

The bitter strain in Fred's voice did not go unnoticed by Ron. "You're not one of the green ones, are you?"

"Nope," said Fred. "I've come into contact with more Stranglers than most, and that makes me a popular patrolling companion for the new kids. Of course, it's because of _them_ that I've got all my experience, really." He laughed mirthlessly. "They're all trained up before they go out, but some of them don't seem to get the message. They get all eager beaver on you and get too close to the things. They always think they're out of reach. They're almost always wrong. And that's when they find a vine the size of a tree trunk rushing toward their head. The new kids never move; they just stand paralyzed and watch." He put the blade back into Ron's hand and stepped out of the way.

Ron's next throw stuck, but he had missed the target again. "There's one benefit to going through something like that," said Fred as he retrieved the knife. "The survivors never freeze again."

"What happened your first time?" Ron asked. Throwing things was helping assuage his irritation with Harry somewhat, but he still felt worked up and didn't mind continuing with such a dark topic of conversation. Fred was speaking so matter-of-factly about the Stranglers that Ron didn't think he'd dodge the question.

"Pretty much the same thing that happens to all the others," said Fred. "I thought I was out of range, and I couldn't move an inch when the Strangler started coming at me. Lucky for me I was with George, and he'd had the sense to stay farther back." He shrugged. "Of course, all of us were new back then. None of us had any experience in patrolling. Try again."

Ron threw.

"Still getting closer," Fred observed. "Anyway, I try not to be too hard on the new kids, because I know how they feel. They get out there on their first patrol after being cooped up inside for years. They've got weapons in their hands and they think they can do anything. And then they come upon a Strangler, something they've hated for years, and they feel they've finally got a chance to _do_ something about it. It's blocking their way to freedom, they _really_ want to kill it, and it doesn't look so fast. So they get a little too close, either because they're feeling bold or they're not paying enough attention, and that's when they learn." Fred shook his head. "It doesn't always happen on the first trip. Sometimes it takes several, but it seems like almost everyone pushes it at one point or another."

"What about Hermione?" Ron asked quietly. "Was that what she was doing when she got hurt? Taking risks?"

"No, it's not. She's one of the only younger patrollers I know who's never done something daring or stupid. She's much too sensible for that."

Ron smiled in spite of himself. 'Sensible' was certainly an apt description of Hermione.

"She was out with Mad-Eye," said Fred, "and he's even more cautious than she is. To make a long story short, they were out late, it was getting dark, and they flew straight into the path of a new plant. They didn't see it until it was too late. Mad-Eye managed to swerve out of the way, but Hermione was caught. They're both lucky that at least one of them was able to steer clear, or they would both be dead right now, and you would have arrived to find us all in mourning." Fred drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "It was scary. Not just because Hermione had such a close call, but because I thought Harry was going to lose it. He nearly took Mad-Eye's head off when he found out what had happened."

"Why?" said Ron.

"Two reasons, really," said Fred. "First of all, it was partly Mad-Eye's fault that they were out in the dark. They got a late start, which isn't something you can afford to do when you're patrolling with Mad-Eye. He likes to double back and triple-check everything, and he and Hermione had a whole route to inspect. Hermione's often his partner because she's one of the few people who has the patience for his paranoia. Believe me, nerves can get pretty frayed around here."

Ron had no trouble believing it. The sight of his brother, sister, and Hermione all snapping at each other was still fresh in his mind.

"The second reason Harry was angry was that it was Hermione who got hurt. If it had been someone else he would've been upset, sure, but not furious. He really depends on her."

The knife was standing, forgotten, in the wall. Fred had not Summoned it back, and Ron wasn't thinking about it, either.

A soft knock sounded on the door behind them. "Come in," said Fred, turning to look.

The door opened slightly and Hermione peeked in. "Hi," she said, smiling. "I've been looking for you both, but I wasn't sure if I'd find you. It's very late."

"How late?" said Fred.

"Half past ten."

"Oi! You weren't kidding."

Ron snorted. "You wouldn't have called that late ten years ago."

"It is when you've got to get up for patrolling at the crack of dawn," said Fred. He looked at Hermione. "I am still on for tomorrow, aren't I?"

"Well, that's why I came to find you both," said Hermione. "Yes, you're still on, Fred, and Harry'll give you another task when you're done. They're still hammering out the details of the schedule." She turned her eyes upon Ron. "And you'll be happy to know that Harry has decided to leave you in on the planning."

Ron forced his lips into a tight smile, but he couldn't make it touch his eyes. He was glad to hear that Harry had decided in his favor, but he didn't see why Harry had had to _think_ about it for so long.

"He convinced himself, really," Hermione continued. "After all, you already know so much, and we've got a lot to do. He thinks we can use your help. So I've drawn up a list of things for you to do."

This time, when Ron smiled, he meant it.

"Did I say something funny?" said Hermione.

"I dunno, I just… well, you're not really so different," said Ron. "With the lists and stuff, I mean."

"I like lists," said Hermione, but she was smiling, too. "They're so nice and orderly. I always feel accomplished whenever I cross something off." She pulled a small roll of parchment from her pocket and opened it.

Ron goggled at the dozens of lines in tiny, perfect script that covered the paper. "How many things did you come up with?"

"Enough to keep you busy," said Hermione, who sounded quite pleased with herself. "And the first thing you're going to do is learn how to use the crossbows."

Fred frowned. "Harry hasn't changed his mind about letting him come along, has he?"

"No, he hasn't," said Hermione. "We don't intend for you to need to use a knife, either, Ron, but there's no reason for you not to learn. The faster you pick up some new defense skills, the better. You just never know these days… and that'll be even truer in four days' time."

"Right, then," said Fred. "That's it for tonight, then." He Summoned the knife from its place in the wall, magically repaired the damage it had inflicted on the plaster, and, with a wave of his wand, let the glowing target dissipate. "I have to hit the sack or I'll be no good to anyone tomorrow."

At the mention of bed, a yawn rose up in Ron's throat that he couldn't stifle. "Me, too."

The three of them left the room together and headed off down the hallway. Hermione stuck close by Ron's side, allowing Fred to walk in front of them. When they reached the room that Mr. Weasley, Bill, Fred, and Ron were sharing, she hung back, looking uncertainly at Ron.

Fred looked between Ron and Hermione a few times and smirked. "I'll just leave you two kids alone, then."

"I am not a kid," Hermione said pertly, but Fred merely snickered and ducked inside.

"As if a twenty-five year-old woman and a fifteen-year-old…" Hermione muttered, then tossed her head and turned to Ron. "Look. I know you're upset with Harry."

Ron felt his mouth tighten again. He didn't respond.

"But put yourself in his shoes," she continued. "Should he bend the rules for you, just because you're his friend? He wasn't kidding about why we have them, either."

"If _Harry_ were in _my _shoes," said Ron, "he wouldn't stand for being left out. He'd find some way to get involved, and then he'd probably follow the Order when they left to –"

"Don't do that," Hermione interrupted. "Please don't follow us." Her eyes were big and frightened. "You might have seen the Stranglers, but you truly don't know what they can do. You'd be a babe in the woods. Promise me you won't."

"I'm not going to!" said Ron, startled by Hermione's serious demeanor. "I'm just saying that's what Harry would do!"

"Don't scare me like that." Hermione's hands, which had been clenched into fists, visibly relaxed. She drew a deep breath before continuing. "The point is that he's only got your own good at heart. And he did decide to let you help."

"Yeah, I guess," Ron admitted, rather grudgingly.

Hermione smiled, looking relieved. She seemed understand that she had achieved her goal of bringing Ron around. "He's trying to keep you safe because he cares about you," she said.

Ron shifted his stance uncomfortably. Talking about emotions was not something he felt like doing just then, but to his surprise, he found himself speaking anyway. "I just wish he was like he used to be."

Hermione's features grew soft. "So do I." Quite unexpectedly, she leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Ron started, feeling his skin tingling where she'd touched him.

"We lost you once," said Hermione. "We don't want to lose you again. Sleep well." She turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving Ron still standing, astonished, in front of his door.

----------

"Well done, Dennis! Now we'd better have another!"

Ron paused outside the doorway of a brightly lit room and listened as the crowd within shouted for Dennis Creevey to sing a second song. It seemed that the first had been a rousing pub favorite, although no one in the room had been to a pub in ages. Dennis happily obliged, and Ron recognized the tune as 'Cockles and Mussels', which seemed popular with the others as everyone quickly joined in. The voices that sang were loud and laughing despite the fact that the lyrics were rather sad.

It was the night before the attack. The plans were completed; everyone knew their responsibilities for the next day, from the Order leadership to the youngest Muggle. It was nearly ten o'clock, and Ron had stumbled upon the party while wandering aimlessly down the main corridor. He'd passed several just like it, as they seemed to have broken out all over the place. Bursts of song and laughter were drifting out of many of the larger rooms, but Ron had no desire to enter any of them.

It was hard for Ron to describe how he was feeling. He had been in one of the parties with Hermione and some of his old schoolmates, but he had left, saying that he needed to find a lavatory. He had long since bypassed his nominal destination, and he didn't want to go back to the party. He simply didn't understand the brand of gallows humor that seemed to have infected everyone around him. Everyone was making merry, for tomorrow they might all die. They seemed to find it liberating, but Ron only felt fear growing within him as he thought about tomorrow. There was so much hanging in the balance that his heart positively fluttered with anxiety.

The four days of preparation had seemed to fly by. Ron had been kept just as busy as everyone else, whether he was practicing throwing a knife, learning to use a crossbow, helping parcel out rations for the people who were being left at headquarters, or memorizing maps of the surrounding city streets in case he needed to flee with the others.

Ron was to stay behind, of course; Harry had not changed his mind about that, and Ron didn't argue. He really didn't want to be left at headquarters, but it wasn't because he was hungering for action, as Hermione thought. It was true that Ron had gotten used to sticking by Harry's side when things were dangerous, but he knew that comparing his perils at Hogwarts to what loomed the next day was like comparing apples and oranges. Something had occurred to him while he was memorizing his escape route, and he'd had plenty of time to think while he was hurling blades at the wall and feeling the bruise grow on his shoulder from the crossbow's recoil.

It was a very real possibility that none of his family or friends would return from tomorrow's offensive. If that terrible event came to pass, Ron would be alone in the world. Even Ginny was going; some of the Healers and their apprentices needed to be about to help injured Order members. If they were captured or killed, all hope of Ron's getting home would be lost. He could hardly bear to think of it. He felt he would much rather stay with Harry, Hermione and his family, stand or fall, than flee into the countryside with strangers.

Of course, the chances of getting home were slim, whether the Order gained the victory or not. Ron tried not to dwell on it, but he still couldn't stop himself from waking up cold in the night and realizing anew where – or rather, when – he was. Every time, that horrid realization was accompanied by a racing pulse and feelings of panic. It was like constantly waking from a bad dream, only to find that it hadn't been a dream at all.

Several people suddenly appeared in the hallway several feet in front of Ron. All of them were laughing and joking, and Ron reflexively tried to blend into the shadows. If they saw him, they would try to pull him back into their celebration, thinking he would enjoy himself. But Ron didn't feel like joining in, not when he was feeling so low. He quickly turned down a side passage before he was noticed, and when he heard the revelers moving in his direction, he ducked into the first room he came to.

Ron closed the door and turned around to see a single figure seated in a chair with his back to him. An odd, soft spectrum of colored light seemed to be emanating from something that was hidden by the person's body. The figure was leaning on one arm which was propped on a desk that was covered in curling pieces of parchment. A small glass filled with a dark liquid dangled from limp fingers.

Ron already knew who it was before the figure turned to look at him. The black, rumpled hair and ponderous atmosphere were enough to name the occupant as Harry.

For moment, the two regarded each other in silence. Ron had seen little of Harry over the past few days, and they had spoken even less. Harry had been busy, as the shadows beneath his eyes attested, and Ron had had his own jobs to do.

"I'm sorry," said Ron, finding his voice at last. "I didn't know this was your room."

"Are you hiding from someone?" Harry said curiously. "You've got a sort of guilty look." He smiled slightly to show Ron that he was joking, but Ron barely noticed. His attention was caught by the lump of oddly-shaped glass that Harry was holding. The colored light he had seen was emanating from it, pulsing inside like a living, breathing thing.

"Oh. Erm, people celebrating," said Ron as he stared at the shining glass. "I don't really feel like it anymore."

Harry shook his head. "Nor I." He raised his cup to his lips and took a slow drink.

Ron looked away from the colored light and gave Harry a critical glance. "You're not… soused, are you?"

Harry gave a hollow laugh. "Me? No. I've never been soused in my life. We haven't got much alcohol anyway, and we don't waste our time and resources trying to make it." He held up the small cup. "This is cold tea. We haven't got much of it, either, but since we might not be around to drink it after tomorrow, I figured… what the hell." He looked down at the smooth glass in his hands and carefully ran one finger along it.

"What is that?" said Ron.

"A present," said Harry. "Luna gave it to me; she brought it to the party the day you disappeared."

Ron's mouth opened, but he didn't speak for a moment. Of course; it was the bit of rainbow from Luna's vacationing leprechaun. It was a beautiful thing, and Ron wondered at the ease with which she had given it away. "I remember," he finally said. "I asked Luna what was in her box, since it was black. Say – what happened to her, anyway? You said she'd done something to help protect the Order."

Harry shifted in his chair. "I'd better not say."

"Oh," said Ron. He felt a sinking sensation in his chest and his face grew hot. He didn't want to talk to Harry if he was in 'fearless leader' mode, because that person didn't always treat him as an old friend. "Well. I'll just be going, then. Sorry to have bothered you." He turned to leave.

"Please don't," said Harry.

Ron paused with his hand on the doorknob. "I don't really feel like being _protected_ just now."

"It's for Luna's protection, not yours," said Harry. "Stay. I've been wishing I had someone to talk to."

There was a pleading note in Harry's voice that caught Ron off his guard. He had not heard anything other than firmness and certainty in his friend's tone since he had arrived. "I guess it depends on what you want to talk about," said Ron. "I mean, I'm not very good for advice."

"I don't need advice," said Harry. He drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I just need a friend."

Ron believed him. He took his hand off the doorknob and leaned against the wall. He had no idea what to say to Harry, so he held his peace and simply looked into Harry's face.

Ron was taken aback by the look of deepest sadness that stared back at him. For a moment, Ron almost thought he was looking at a younger Harry, just after Sirius had died. He'd had the same haunted, lost look then, and Ron hadn't known what to say to comfort him. He didn't know what to say now, either.

"I'm sorry if you think I've been avoiding you," said Harry. "But I haven't. There were other things to see to that couldn't wait."

"I know," said Ron. The words seemed inadequate.

"I wake up every day and remember that you're here, and I'm glad. But then I see you and you're still fifteen, and to be perfectly honest, I don't always know how to talk to you." He chuckled halfheartedly. "I'm the head of the Order. I'm supposed to know what to do. Everyone looks to me for direction, but I don't know how to handle it when my best friend shows up, ten years younger than he should be, and needs me to help him get back home."

Ron stood very still and listened. It was the least guarded Harry had been since Ron had first seen him in the future.

Harry ran one hand through his unruly hair. "Sometimes I don't know what to think. I don't know whether to be grateful for the privilege of seeing you once again or to wish that you'd never lived to see these dark times."

"I'd rather not be dead, myself," said Ron.

A smile quirked the corners of Harry's mouth. "No. It's not that I wanted you to be dead, it's that… Now that you're here, you have to muck through this with us. I always gleaned some comfort from the knowledge that you never had to struggle like we did. These are the twilight years, Ron. Our way of life has been ending for a decade." He gazed morosely into the glass in his hand.

Ron's sense of unease had been growing while Harry talked. This was not the same Harry that Ron had seen in the halls. Out there he was all business and efficiency, but Ron was beginning to see that it had been an act – in part, at least. It was just as Hermione had said – Harry outwardly kept his spirits up for the benefit of everyone else in the Order. They looked to him as their leader and source of hope. He couldn't afford to appear uncertain around the others. It suddenly occurred to Ron that he had been looking to Harry for strength and reassurance just as much as everyone else. Now that the façade was down, it left him feeling distressingly vulnerable.

Harry stared at Luna's gift, sometimes with a ghost of a smile on his lips, sometimes frowning. Ron didn't know what it was, but somehow he was beginning to understand why the room felt the way it did. The heaviness of the air took on new meaning as he realized that this was where Harry came to be alone – to release his doubts and worries where no one could see him. Ron knew as surely as if Harry had said so himself that he often sat here, turning that piece of glass in his hands and agonizing over the future. He thought of all the people under his direction, feeling guilty over every single person who had lost their life since he had taken command. He worried that he would never be able to deliver the victory they so desperately needed, that the Order would be crushed beneath Percy's might or insanity. Perhaps his plans were flawed. Perhaps he was leading them all to their deaths. Hermione… Lupin… Mr. Weasley and the Heads of House… If his plan failed, then they would all know that their faith in him had been tragically misplaced.

"It won't be _your_ failure," Ron said without thinking. "If it doesn't work it's not your fault."

Harry's head snapped up. He stared at Ron, openmouthed, looking as if Ron had slapped him.

Ron blinked. Had he just said that out loud? He certainly hadn't meant to.

Harry's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he managed to speak. "How… how did you…"

"I guess I know you pretty well," Ron stammered. "I mean, it seemed pretty obvious what you were thinking." He felt the heat of embarrassment suffuse his cheeks.

Harry closed his mouth. "You were right," he said softly. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Hermione's the only other person who… who sees another side of me, you could say. I didn't want to let her but somehow she forced me."

A quick bark of a laugh escaped Ron's lips. "Yeah. That's Hermione."

"And if you hadn't vanished that day, you'd have been in league with her," said Harry.

Ron felt his face burning anew. Harry didn't have to spell it out any more clearly; he could read the hidden message. _I needed you._ Ron suddenly felt a fool for ever having expected anything more from Harry. He'd never really said it, even back in Ron's old time. That was Harry's way – to take everything and internalize it, and not say anything until he could no longer hold it back or it was dragged from him. And now, with the weight of the world again on his shoulders, he was surely ten times as recalcitrant.

Harry opened his mouth to speak again. Ron decided not to let him. Perhaps it was time to give Harry what he'd needed all those years they'd been apart: reassurance. For some reason, he seemed to want it from Ron instead of one of the other leaders.

"You've done the best that you could," he said, "and that's an awful lot. Everybody knows that. Whatever happens tomorrow, well, it just happens, and there's not much you can do about that."

Harry's face relaxed a little. "Yeah. I suppose you're right."

Encouraged, Ron went on, his voice gaining surety as he spoke. "And those people out there? They're not sitting around, wondering if you've led them straight. They're ready to go. Even _I'm_ ready to go, and I've only been here for a week."

Harry smiled. "Does it feel like more?"

"Yeah," Ron admitted. "And I do want to go home, but I guess there's no point in waiting around anymore. Either we find a Time-Turner and I get back, or we don't and I get on with my life here."

Harry gave Ron a curious look, as if Ron had said something strange. But all he said was, "Here's hoping it's the former," and solemnly downed the rest of his cold tea.

Ron suddenly yawned before he could stop himself. "Sorry," he said, "but I guess I'm kind of tired."

"Me, too," said Harry. "And we'll both need our rest for tomorrow. Go on, if you like."

Ron nodded and turned toward the door.

"I'm glad you stumbled in here," Harry said abruptly.

Ron looked back at his friend and grinned. "Me, too. Night, mate."

"Goodnight."

Ron stepped out into the hallway, closed the door behind him, and was surprised to find that much of his anxiety had suddenly melted away. He thought again of what he had just said. There wasn't much else anyone could do than their best, and there really was no use in worrying about it anymore; what was coming was coming. Harry had actually been convinced by what Ron had said. And the funny thing was that Ron now believed it, too.

Feeling calm for the first time that night, Ron headed off in search of his own bed with a new lightness in his step.

-

**A/N:** Good grief. Two months. It's so frustrating to have the _desire_ to write and either 1) not have the time, or 2) not be able to when you do have the time! This chapter was a toughie for me. It was written in disjointed chunks that had to be put together. It's gone through several rewrites and it's still not perfect, but it's much, much better than it used to be. For a long time, there was something that was just _wrong _about it, and I finally realized that it was the tone. It didn't fit in with the previous chapters, but I think it does now. Anyway, if anyone still remembers that this story exists heh , here's the next installment. And I'm working on the next one!

J Black: It's been two months. I hope you haven't _actually_ died this time.

kungzoune: I am trying to keep up the work, period, whether it's good or not!

High Serpent King: I did it again. I know. :-(

AmStarr: Aw, thanks! _So_ sorry it took so long.

BekaJWP: Next chapter: Battle! Woo hoo!

Reviewer: Gee, I hope you're still checking, but I won't be surprised if you're not. It's my own fault.

krysalys73: You're psychic! :-) Hope your job has gotten better!

Belle84: Thanks! It was really great of you to specifically say what you liked about the story. If there's anything you specifically don't like, well, I'm open to that too. :-) Hope you're still reading.

Didge: Nope – I have never heard of "Thief", but I'm not surprised that there are other stories/books out there with similar plots. It just happens, ya know?


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